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SOMEWHERE NEAR 
THE WAR 



BEING AN AUTHENTIC AND MORE OR LESS DIVERTING 

CHRONICLE OF THE PILGRIMAGE OF TWELVE AMERICAN 

JOURNALISTS TO THE WAR ZONE, WITH SOME 

ACCOUNT OF THEIR ADVENTURES THERE 

AND THEREABOUTS. 



BY 

EDGAR B. PIPER 

Editor The Oregonian. 



Published By The 

Portland, Oregon. 
19 19 



->"&* 



Copyright, 1919, by Edgar B. Piper. 



All. Rights Reserved. 



APR -7 1919 
©CIA515144 



INTRODUCTORY. 



The British government, through its Ministry of Infor- 
mation, last September (1918) extended to a number of 
American newspaper editors and publishers an invitation to 
come to Great Britain, Ireland and France and see the war 
at the front and the war organization at home, and to meet 
British and French statesmen, journalists, soldiers and citi- 
zens. The purpose was frankly to give the American people, 
through the eyes of representative newspaper men, an 
understanding of the vast completeness of the British effort 
in the war for a cause to which America was committed as 
well as Great Britain. It was suggested also that there 
would be full opportunity to meet the French and to inspect 
the French war units and war industries, and to visit the 
American front. The invitation was accepted by the fol- 
lowing : 

EDWARD W. BARRETT, Age-Herald, Birmingham, Ala. 

E. H. BUTLER, Evening News, Buffalo, N. Y. 
FRANKLIN P. GLASS, News, Birmingham, Ala. 
HERSCHEL V. JONES, Journal, Minneapolis, Minn. 

F. R. KENT, Sun, Baltimore, Md. 

A. M. McKAY, Tribune, Salt Lake, Utah. 

E. H. O'HARA, Herald, Syracuse, N. Y. 

W. A. PATTERSON, Western Newspaper Union, Chicago, 111. 

EDGAR B. PIPER, Oregonian, Portland, Or. 

E. L. RAY, Globe-Democrat, St. Louis, Mo. 

C. A. ROOK, Dispatch, Pittsburg, Pa. 

LAFAYETTE YOUNG, JR., Capital, Des Moines, la. 

The party assembled in New York on September 23, 1918, 
and sailed on the troopship Orontes September 24, in com- 
pany with about 75 other passengers and 1800 American 



iv INTRODUCTORY. 

soldiers. There were 12 vessels in the convoy, among them 
the ill-fated Otranto, which sank off the Irish coast, with 
the loss of 500 or more, most of them American soldiers. 
The landing was at Liverpool October 7, 1918. The party in 
turn visited London and several other cities and towns of 
England and Scotland, and the British, French and Ameri- 
can war fronts, and then Ireland. 

The editors participated in many public functions, met 
many public men, saw great sights, gained new impressions 
and had altogether an interesting and remarkable experience. 
They were in Europe nearly two months. 

Asknowledgment should be made of the courtesy of the 
British Ministry of Information, and of the hospitality of 
the British and French governments and peoples. Arrange- 
ments for the reception of the visiting journalists were 
thorough, not to say elaborate. If any editor had an 
impression that he would have the status of a stranger or 
wayfarer, he was soon convinced that the greatest aspira- 
tion of the British and French alike is to establish a rela- 
tionship of mutual fellowship and good-will with America, 
through better understandings between all of them and all 
of us. It is frequently said that Great Britain has just 
discovered America. It may with equal truth be said also 
that America has on its part just discovered France and 
has begun to know Great Britain. 

It may or may not be pertinent to add that the subscriber 
has no notions about an alliance with Great Britain, France 
or any foreign country, certainly none with Great Britain, 
not shared in common with all powers of the first rank. 
The American horizon is broadening and America is begin- 
ning to see that it has new duties toward the world. They 
consist mainly in helping the world to reach the American 
standards of duty and loyalty, citizenship and service. 

It is a good thing for any American citizen to go abroad, 
at least once in his lifetime. It is likely to make a better 
American of him; and we cannot have too many good 
Americans, both for America's benefit and the world's. I do 
not at all mean to make depreciative comparisons. I mean 
that the value of citizenship in the free democracy of 
America has not been enough appreciated by Americans. 



INTRODUCTORY. v 

The war has served America well in bringing home to every 
man and woman in the United States a sound sense of his 
responsibility to his country and to humanity, and a very 
lively apprehension of his stake in the contest of arms. 
Through this war we have lost some thousands of precious 
lives and the old provincialism ; and have gained a new re- 
spect for ourselves, a new understanding of our obligation 
to others, and, it may be hoped, a new satisfaction in our 
American inheritance of a republic. 

A series of letters from me appeared under my signa- 
ture in The Oregonian, and many friends have been kind 
enough to suggest that they be compiled and printed in 
book form. The design of the present volume is to comply 
with what seems to be a public demand. There is no ma- 
terial change from the original form of the letters. They 
are herewith re-committed to the consideration of the great 
circle of Oregonian readers and to any others who perchance 
may encounter them in a search for an hour or two of enter- 
tainment and instruction. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



PAGE. 

FIRST LETTER 1 

Bound for the War. 

SECOND LETTER 6 

All Alone With the Deadly Submarine. 

THIRD LETTER 10 

Passing the Time in a Long Sea Voyage. 

FOURTH LETTER 16 

The Storm. 

FIFTH LETTER 21 

First Impressions of England. 

SIXTH LETTER 26 

A Grand Day With Royalty. 

SEVENTH LETTER 32 

The Grand Fleet, 

EIGHTH LETTER 27 

Traveling the Banquet Route. 

NINTH LETTER 42 

The Flight That Failed. 

TENTH LETTER 48 

The Grand Entry Into the War Zone. 

ELEVENTH LETTER 54 

Lille and Its Deliverance. 

TWELFTH LETTER 59 

Vimy Ridge. 

THIRTEENTH LETTER 64 

Two Unwilling Casualties. 

FOURTEENTH LETTER 69 

Fighting Over Their Battles in Bed. 



viii TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

FIFTEENTH LETTER 75 

How Soldiers Fight and Die. 

SIXTEENTH LETTER 80 

On the Wat to the American Front. 

SEVENTEENTH LETTER 85 

How the Americans Won St. Mihied Salient. 

EIGHTEENTH LETTER 90 

Where Joan op Arc Had Her Visions. 

NINETEENTH LETTER 95 

Valor op Oregon Boys and Men in the War. 

TWENTIETH LETTER 101 

Happy Days With the Friendly and Thrifty French. 

TWENTY -FIRST LETTER 106 

Troubles and Trials op Foreign Speech. 

TWENTY-SECOND LETTER 110 

Ulster and Home Rule in Ireland 

TWENTY-THIRD LETTER 117 

Ireland and Sinn Fein. 

TWENTY-FOURTH LETTER 124 

Liquor Control and Liquor Drinking in England. 

TWENTY-FIFTH LETTER 129 

Armistice Day in London. 

TWENTY-SIXTH LETTER 135 

Seeing the Sights From a Taxi. Window. 



SOMEWHERE NEAR 
THE WAR 



FIRST LETTER. 



BOUND FOR THE WAR. 

THE twelve editors commissioned by the British gov- 
ernment, through its Ministry of Information, to visit 
England, the battle front and the grand fleet and to 
report their adventures in their own way, subject, of course, 
to "military exigencies," are on the high seas. 

Doubtless all military exigencies are to be defined and 
determined by the censor, which is well enough. That 
mysterious and worried functionary may in his wisdom see 
fit to prevent for a time an instant report of war activities 
and conditions by the dozen chroniclers, but they will be 
home in due time, if the submarines do not get them. 

The present reporter, for example, is quite unable to 
read the censor's mind and does not know how much he may 
tell about the journey across the Atlantic. He may add 
that at the moment the sea is running in a heavy swell, and, 
while he is able to dismiss all U-boats from present consid- 
eration, the frequent intrusion of the inquisitive waves at 
an adjacent window serves to distract a landsman's thought 
from all else than his physical surroundings. 

The departure from American shores was an inspiring 
and wonderful spectacle. Our ship was apparently the last 
to join the convoy, which had waited for us at a designated 
rendezvous. We left at midday under a shining sky, after 
a dreary stay at our pier. 

The leave-taking was sudden, for almost before we 
realized it we were on our way. All we knew or could 
know was that we were at last outward bound, headed for 
the war zone and its dangers, real and imaginary, and that 



2 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

we were to be one of a company of many transports; but 
when or where or how we were to join them was purposely 
left in the dark. This feature of the going made it, perhaps, 
all the more interesting; certainly it contributed vastly to 
the stores of rumor, speculation, gossip and outright mis- 
information which had been accumulating during our 
enforced and rather tedious wait. 

When there is nothing for men to do but gossip they 
prove that women have no monopoly of that pleasing 
pastime. Everybody has a theory and he expresses it and 
defends it. It is founded on rumor always, and the diligence 
and genius with which one devises or discovers rumor is 
the measure of his usefulness on such occasions. It is great 
entertainment. Indeed, it is the only entertainment for 
imprisoned and restless passengers. The man or woman 
who invented the art of rumor-mongering was, after all, a 
public benefactor. It's the life, and has been, and will be 
for days and days to come, if we don't weaken. 

A few moments ago, for illustration, we heard that 
Bulgaria had capitulated. Nobody knows where it came 
from ; but here it is, a winged messenger of gratifying report 
from the encircling air. If it came by wireless, it may be 
true ; but if there is any such agency of communication with 
the outside universe, nobody of the common herd has seen 
it. The event may prove that rumor can be authentic. If 
so, it will be the first in our experience for long, long days.* 

We celebrate today the first centenary of our existence, 
a whole week, on this ship. The first hundred years they 
say are the longest. But to get back to our departure : 

We came on the waiting squadron with great unexpect- 
edness. Here and there we had encountered an incoming 
vessel, among them a great Norwegian liner, duly decorated 
with the semblance on her broad sides of her national flag 
and with her name in huge letters. There is still a fiction 
that the Germans will not sink a neutral vessel if they 
know it is neutral. They sink it, however, and then apologize 
for it, perhaps. A long way ahead a dark object floated in 
the sky above the moving waters. Beneath were the tiny 

*The rumor was correct. It came, doubtless, from the flagship, the ill-fated 
Otranto, which was the only vessel in the squadron privileged to have communi- 
cation by wireless, or otherwise, with the outside world. 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 3 

masts of a smart yacht which seemed somehow to be the 
consort of the thing above. 

As the distance decreased and the mists cleared, it was 
seen that the great cigar-like object was an observation 
balloon, floating above its anchoring vessel, the wary 
sentinel of a mighty congregation of transports and war- 
ships. The companion ships were already under way, with 
their living freight of troops consigned to our allies. Doubt- 
less our arrival had been accurately timed, for there was 
no sort of delay. 

We had been assigned to a station near the head, for we 
sped rapidly forward, past the whole noble concourse, and 
saw at the start the magnificent proportions of the vast 
picture. A battleship with her suggestive fighting masts, 
advertising her nationality as American, and colored with 
the characteristic vesture of grim war-gray, fell in behind 
us. There was a whirr in the air, and a huge seaplane sped 
by, the flying eyes of a nation at war, seeking for possible 
enemies under the waters. The rapid flight of the great 
airbird was novel and startling. It visited first one ship 
and then another, covering in a speedy and comprehensive 
inspection every unit of the advancing squadron. Over and 
over it came and went, rising and descending, swooping this 
way and swerving that, always the alert and trustworthy 
patrol of the moving armada beneath. 

Off in the depths of the horizon appeared, slowly, then 
swiftly, another seaplane, and the pair of them joined in 
watchman service for the wondering thousands in the ships 
below. Far to the front was a great white apparition, just 
above the level of the waters, fitting in strangely with the 
tremendous scene. Slowly it went to the right and left, 
ever maintaining a fixed remoteness. It was an airship, 
pioneering the course and doing its work of observation 
and warning with other pilots and guardians of the sky. 

A camouflaged cruiser was in the van, and there were 
torpedo-boats and coast patrols, just how many, or what 
their particular service, may not be said. The beauty of 
the spectacle was only an incident; there was no plan, of 
course, to furnish any mere display for the edification of 
the travelers or for the behoof of enemies. It was powerful 



4 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

protection, the fruit of preparedness, the reassuring exhibi- 
tion and demonstration of the fitness of America to safe- 
guard its own, the overwhelming evidence of its stern and 
efficient purpose to do its full part in the war. 

If one witness of the impressive sight gains nothing else 
from his journey to Europe, however precarious it may 
prove to be, he will have been repaid by his opportunity to 
see this amazing panorama. So long as life lasts its memory 
will not fade. 

Something has been said about rumors and their uses. 
Our first experience with rumor was enjoyed before we 
had cast off lines from the pier. It was the Spanish 
influenza. The Eastern papers had been full of its ravages. 
Everywhere throughout the New England and Atlantic 
States it had seized and claimed its victims. Someone dis- 
covered that it had appeared on our ship. The crew was 
said to be deserting on its account. The incoming soldiers 
had suffered from its visitations, and many of them had 
already been taken off and sent to a hospital. The ship's 
doctor was reported to have been worked to exhaustion. 
Nobody had seen the captain and it was at once surmised 
that he, too, was in the deadly grip of the monster. 

The editors were naturally apprehensive and they con- 
cluded that they should do something about it. They had 
no personal fear of the influenza, of course, but it was their 
public duty to ascertain the facts and acquaint the authori- 
ties. Besides, there was the risk of a long quarantine, 
either here or abroad, or both, and they didn't care to take 
any unnecessary chances. A committee was appointed to 
interview the ship's officers, and its members set out on 
their quest. They did not at once find the captain or chief 
officer, who were busy making preparations for the voyage, 
but they ran across a loquacious steward who had abundant 
information on the subject and all other subjects. He con- 
firmed their worst fears. The influenza was, he declared, 
all it was reported to be, and worse. 

The ship should not be permitted to sail, with conditions 
so deplorable, for the danger of contagion and death to all 
on board was beyond measure. This was sufficient. It was 
time to do something drastic and heroic. We were penned 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 5 

in, all right, in a floating coffin, but we were free Americans 
and no Briton — yes, it is a British vessel, with British 
officers and British crew — should prevent us from asserting 
the great American prerogative of raising a row. 

An officer was persuaded to take a spokesman ashore, 
and he telephoned to Sir Geoffrey Butler, the affable New 
York head of the British Bureau of Information, to come at 
once. We had something to say to him. Mr. Butler came in 
all the splendor of a new silk hat. We told him all about it 
and asked for sympathy and action. We got both. He 
assured us that our plight would be all we fancied it was, 
if the situation was as we described it; but the steward 
was just a common liar. He had been indulging in the 
great sport, practiced by every seasoned sailor on every 
apprehensive passenger, of "stringing him." The vessel 
had been duly inspected by the United States authorities, 
by the British authorities and by the port authorities 
as well, and had been regularly passed. True, there had 
been discovered a few cases of influenza, but the influenza 
was everywhere, and it was not surprising that some cases 
should be found among many hundred soldiers and civilians. 
They were being, and would be, duly cared for. What was 
there to worry about?* 

The discomfited editors, persuaded that everything was 
all right, retired to the shop to await circulation of the next 
rumor. Our last view of the smiling Geoffrey was of a bland 
and easy-mannered British gentleman gracefully waving his 
high hat at us as he passed out of view at the entrance 
of the pier. The influenza being satisfactorily disposed of, 
we next devoted ourselves to the latest news of the ubiq- 
uitous submarines. But of the submarines — more anon. 

Aboard Ship En Route to England, September 30, 1918. 

♦The rumors, it developed later, were well founded. Many of the crew had 
been taken from the ship, suffering from influenza. The influenza appeared 
among the soldiers after three or four days at sea, and, before the voyage was 
ended, there were 400 cases and 27 deaths. There was a single military doctor, 
and the supplies of drugs and medicines were entirely inadequate. There was 
scandalous mismanagement and inefficiency in the embarkation service, not 
only on this particular vessel, but on others of the squadron, and other squadrons, 
where conditions were as bad or worse. I learned from the commander of an 
American rest camp in England that of the 5700 soldiers who arrived about 
October 1 on the steamship Olympic, 300 died of pneumonia resulting from 
influenza. "When the whole painful story of disease and death among our troops 
at sea is told, I think we shall have small confidence in the boasted efficiency 
of at least one department of the "War Department — embarkation service. 
The facts, so far as I learned them, were not told in my letters at the time 
because of the censorship. 



SECOND LETTER. 



ALL ALONE WITH THE DEADLY SUBMARINE. 

WE HAVE seen no submarines, though we have not 
for a moment doubted the Kaiser's fell purpose to 
intercept and destroy us, if he gets the chance. 
There isn't a great deal of chance, indeed, surrounded as we 
are by lively destroyers and more than one efficient war- 
ship. The constant presence of these mighty policemen of 
the sea should be reassuring, and it is, in a measure. Log- 
ically, the U-boats can't get at us, but the Germans are an 
obstinately illogical lot of barbarians. Thousands of ships 
have gone across the Atlantic under the vigilant protection 
of American and British warships, carrying a multitude of 
American soldiers, actual and potential, and the losses have 
been almost negligible. But we have a notion that what 
the German high command has really been waiting for, and 
conserving all its forces to do, is to make one tremendous 
effort to sink a ship containing twelve warlike editors, bound 
for the battlefront to learn and tell the whole truth about 
the war. We are fortified in that unpleasant conclusion by 
the testimony of practically all other persons aboard, exclud- 
ing the soldiers, who are too busy trying to be comfortable 
to concern themselves about such trifles as marauding 
U-boats. The ship's officers, too, seem singularly reticent 
and unworried. But there are some seventy-five passengers, 
and quite a fraction of them are old travelers who have many 
times braved the dangers of the ocean, and have each to 
tell about personal encounters with submarines. None of 
them have been hit, or sunk, or killed, but they have vivid 
recollections of their experiences, and are easily persuaded 
to tell about them. 

A horse-trader who has crossed the Atlantic eight times 
since the war began was on a fast liner coming from England 
last May, and a submarine got in their way and fired thirty- 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 7 

six shots at them. The cruiser responded with forty-four 
shots. No casualties; much fright. 

An English merchant was in a fleet which was chased 
by one of the terrors, evidently awaiting its opportunity 
to catch some vessel napping — the favorite strategy of the 
Hun captains — and an airship hove in sight from out of the 
convenient air, and dropped a depth bomb on her; and that 
was the finish of her — the undersea boat. Later he heard — 
emphasis on the "heard" — that one of the convoy which had 
left them, bound for India, was intercepted by three of the 
monsters, and sunk. 

A Canadian manufacturer was a passenger on a ship 
which was literally on top of a U-boat before anybody saw 
her. Her captain tried to run her down, and failed. The 
German maneuvered to get into position to fire, and mean- 
while a depth bomb was dropped on her, and the last sign 
anybody saw of her was two legs of a German caught in 
the wreckage, kicking frantically and unavailingly at the 
sky as she went down. 

An English fur buyer was in a convoy, and one of the 
largest ships was hit, but was kept afloat by great efforts 
for 22 hours ; then a submarine — probably the same one that 
had done the first damage — appeared at her side, in the 
midst of the fleet, and drove a torpedo into her, and sent 
her to the bottom. A half dozen British boats went after 
the impudent German, and destroyed her. 

A sailor was on the Andania, when she Was attacked, 
and got out by jumping into the water with an oar. This 
hero was interviewed at some length by anxious passengers, 
because he was regarded as probably the best qualified 
expert on U-boats in the ship. He was able to give no 
assurance that our ship would get over in safety. It might, 
of course. Sometimes ships get through all right. "But 
these 'Uns is everywhere, damn 'em," he says. 

So it goes. On every tongue are tales of submarines, 
theories of submarines, fears of submarines. It affords a 
small measure of assurance to find that the net losses of 
the allied and merchant marines have vastly decreased, that 
the net gains over them (August, 1918) were 100,000 tons 
a month, and that in all about 150 U-boats have been sunk 



8 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

since the war began, more than one-half of them in the 
past 12 months. The total number of submarines built by 
Germany is estimated by the British to have been about 
350. This leaves 200 of them still pursuing their destructive 
courses. 

It is more than ever true that the undersea boat literally 
takes its life in its hand when it embarks on a cruise of 
terror and murder. Naturally, it is more cautious, as a rule. 
Here and there is a captain of special enterprise in blood- 
thirsty daring, and he takes a long chance. There are aces 
among them, as there are among the aviators; but they 
meet their fate sooner or later. The problem has not been 
wholly solved by the allies, to be sure; but it has been 
measurably solved, so that there is now a zone of safety 
(comparative) on the Atlantic, and we are passing through 
it at this writing. 

Precaution is not thrown to the wind because we are 
thought to be distant from the danger area. A piece of 
wreckage hove in sight off our starboard quarter yesterday, 
and a patrol boat turned swiftly in its course and went for 
it. A sneaking device of the enemy is to hide his periscope 
in apparently harmless floating debris, and fire away at the 
unwary passer. A long train of smoke followed the vigilant 
watchman craft, screening the fleet from a possible enemy. 
The passengers were more curious than excited. They 
did not quite know how to account for this sudden departure 
from the placid routine of many days' journey, and they 
awaited results with complacency, relatively speaking. 
There were none, except that signals followed between the 
destroyer and the forward cruiser, and the onward march 
was resumed in order. 

The newest rumor is that two fishing boats were 
run down last night by one of the squadron, and that it 
had dropped behind to rescue the unfortunate survivors. 
Whether there are survivors, or whether there was an acci- 
dent, is all matter for passing conjecture. It is true that 
the fleet was minus one of its units, and that later it 
rejoined us. It did not deign to tell us where it had been. 

But there was no element of fancy about one detail of 
the day's happenings. A frail old man, said to be a clergy- 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 9 

man — a Rev. Mr. Croucher — traveling alone from Van- 
couver, B. C, to London, where it was said he was to join 
his family, was seized with pneumonia and died. The inci- 
dent made a deep impression on all aboard. A long and, 
doubtless, a useful career as minister to the lame, the halt 
and the blind, Was thus ended miserably among strangers, 
without the consolation of a familiar hand or the sound of 
a recognizable voice; and the useless remnant of flesh was 
speedily consigned to the waves after a brief service in the 
presence of a small group of sailors, soldiers and civilians. 

It should be added that while there is a good deal of 
sickness it is, except in some instances, not serious. Sea- 
sickness is a curable malady.* 

But let us not get away from the all-inclusive subject 
of submarines. One moot question is as to the best position 
in the fleet. For long days we have been running along on 
the right flank near a handy destroyer ; and it was argued 
with great weight that this must be the post of honor and 
also of greatest risk, for here, most likely, U-boats are known 
most frequently to threaten. The counter-suggestion was 
happily made that in so great a fleet no sagacious Hun would 
seek out a single target, but would surely fire at the whole 
flock, thus making sure to hit something. From this point 
of view it appeared probable that the most dangerous 
locality was the exact center, for it might be reached from 
any side. When light broke this morning, and anxious eyes 
looked abroad to note the changes and possible casualties 
of the night, it was seen that we were the central vessel. 
No great war authority who will undo the mischievous 
work of the amateur strategist who got us in this fix has 
yet appeared.** 

Aboard Ship, En Route to England, October 2, 1918. 

*About this time the influenza began to appear among the soldiers and the 
men. It increased in extent and developed in seriousness, so that it retired the 
submarines to the background as a source of apprehension. 

**The steamship was the Orontes, of Glasgow, about 9000 tons. She had 
been in the commercial service with Australia, and later had been a trans- 
port, carrying Australian soldiers to England. She had capacity for about 
1000 troops, and had never taken more than 1100. But the American authorities 
required her to carry 1800, of whom 500 were negroes. The accommodations 
were so limited and meager, and they became so stifling and filthy, that many 
soldiers insisted on sleeping on the exposed decks, often in the rain all night. 
It was said that in a single morning two soldiers were found dead, lying on the 
deck. It had not even been discovered that they were sick. 

The Orontes left New York September 24, and arrived at Liverpool, via the 
North of Ireland, October 7, 1918. 



THIRD LETTER. 



PASSING THE TIME IN A LONG SEA VOYAGE. 

THE convoy, all intact after nine days at sea, is now 
approaching the real danger zone — a fact which does 
not contribute to the general cheer among the twelve 
editors. The seas are running higher, and the ship is heav- 
ing and straining, and doing her best to hold her exposed 
position in the fleet — she is back again on the right line — 
and the rain is falling, and the cold wind is blowing, and 
everybody who can find a place to stand, or sit, or lie, is 
inside the saloon or smoking-room, or along the companion 
ways. 

For three or four days after we left port, it was plausibly 
contended by one group of geographers that we had all 
along been taking a southerly course, for the growing mild- 
ness of the breezes proved it ; but the unofficial astronomer 
got busy, and made a considerable impression with a cal- 
culation based on naked observations of the sun that our 
course had been north and east, and that our route was 
taking us by way of the grand banks of Newfoundland. 
The dispute raged violently for several days, until yesterday, 
when the sun party all but routed the wind-jammers, citing 
the biting cold breeze as final proof for their theory. Did 
not the descending thermometer show the presence of adja- 
cent icebergs ? Where could icebergs be found except in the 
far North? 

Necessarily all this was admitted, and the anti-sun party 
was about to yield, when some one noted that the wind was 
blowing directly from the south; we could hardly be north 
of the ice fields. It was finally decided to leave the whole 
question of our location to the infallible pole star. The 
main difficulty now is to find the north star, which hides 
itself every night behind the prevailing mists. Probably 
the problem will not be solved until we reach land, if then, 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 11 

and — if we reach, land. The latter "if" is merely added as 
a concession to the prevailing practice of conditioning every 
human probability for the future on the U-boats. We live 
in an atmosphere of apprehension created by an almost 
constant discussion of the German sea-bogy. It puts to rout 
all experience, all demonstration, all facts, and is not per- 
ceptibly lessened by the cool demeanor of the ship's officers, 
the presence of warships, and the prevalence of a general 
storm. 

The storm is, in fact, the best possible guaranty of safety 
from attack, leaving out of consideration the destroyers 
and depth bombs, which the Huns hold in awesome respect. 
More and more is it clear that the U-boats operate mostly 
where they can strike and get away in safety, and he is a 
rare and fortunate German captain who is able to escape 
the swift and deadly return blow of the British and Amer- 
ican torpedoboats. Tonight or tomorrow we shall be met by 
more British and American warships ; then there is only the 
slightest chance of any German visitation. 

A while ago there were three short blasts of the siren — 
the danger signal — and the cry of "man overboard" was 
heard. A sailor had made a misstep from the upper deck, 
and had been thrown into the water. A lusty Australian 
soldier threw over a life-buoy, and the vessel came to a 
standstill, and so did all the other ships. A battleship 
moved over in our direction, and then we began a slow 
maneuver in a circle to locate and rescue the unfortunate 
man. He was not again seen. 

Let me not give the impression that this trip across the 
Atlantic is a sad pilgrimage — not so far. I have had no 
such intention. The talk about submarines among the 
passengers is largely to make conversation, and has precious 
little intrinsic merit. In truth, all know we are abundantly 
and skillfully safeguarded, and that the hazards of the 
ordinary ocean voyage have been, in our case, but little 
increased. We are not told where we are, or how it is being 
done, except insofar as it is obvious ; but all know it is being 
done just the same. 

The editors have established the custom of having a 
symposium every day on some subject pertinent to the 



12 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

object of their investigations abroad. The other day we had 
an informal address by an intelligent and brilliant Irishman, 
long a resident of England, a Manchester merchant — 
"trader," he called himself — on the Irish question. He 
touched in persuasive fashion the high lights of England's 
historic relation with Ireland, and he gave a clear statement 
of the present status of legislation and administration. He 
was critical of England throughout, and wholly sympathetic 
with Ireland; "but," he said in conclusion — and the tears 
came to his eyes — "I am sore at heart that Ireland has 
not taken a great and noble part in the war." 

Again there was a discussion with an Englishman who 
had been much in America on the same Irish question. He 
was as well informed as the Irishman, and as reasonable 
and convincing in statement. He admitted England's mis- 
treatment of Ireland, and said much had been done to correct 
it, and more would be done. He summed up the whole 
matter, from an Englishman's point of view, by insisting 
upon a definition of what Ireland's present, not past, wrongs 
are, and he declared that every Irishman has the same 
freedom and protection under the law as every Englishman 
and Scotchman, and that a policy of separation and not 
nationalization was what Ireland — rebellious Ireland — 
really wants, and England cannot and will not grant. 

The attitudes of these two — Englishman and Irishman — 
are typical of the English and Irish racial viewpoints. When 
the actual differences between them are resolved, they seem 
trifling, so far as tangible and ascertainable grievances are 
concerned. The Irish question would appear to be largely, 
if not wholly, a state of mind, growing out of radical antipa- 
thies, religious prejudices, a traditional sense of injury and 
oppression, the inherited pose of superiority by England, the 
impossibility of a sympathetic understanding by England of 
the Irish soul and spirit, the inborn resentment by Ireland 
of any Anglization (if that is a good word) of Ireland and 
its institutions, a native purpose by Ireland to realize 
somehow an Irish and not a British destiny. 

I hope I have not started anything by this little digres- 
sion into a subject which I shall hope to survey on the 
ground. I know that I have given surface impressions, and 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 13 

I am prepared, I believe, to set aside any present opinions 
and give the candid results of any real inquiry, if I am able 
to make it, into a question which has perplexed statesmen 
and divided peoples, and distracted and nearly broken a 
great empire. 

It is a small world. We had with us today a Scotchman 
who had just escaped from Siberia, with his wife, and was 
on his way to England after 29 years' residence in Ekater- 
inburg, in the Ural Mountains. He managed after incred- 
ible difficulties, and by negotiations with the local bolshevik 
authorities, to leave last May, via the Siberian Railroad, to 
Vladivostok. He was accompanied by 12 others, all British 
subjects. After four and a half days' journey, and re- 
peated indignities through search and other interferences, 
the whole party was arrested and brought back to Ekaterin- 
burg, on the charge that they Were taking gold and platinum 
out of the country. When this was proved untrue, they 
were permitted again to leave, and finally arrived at Vladi- 
vostok, and then went to Japan and across the Pacific to 
Vancouver, and then on to the Atlantic coast. When Mr. 
Davidson was telling his story he caught the interested at- 
tention of a good-looking American soldier, a Second Lieu- 
tenant. It developed that he, too, had been born in Ekater- 
inburg, and had been taken to America as a child. The 
family had settled on the Pacific Coast, and owned a farm 
on the Wishkah River, in Washington, near Aberdeen. The 
soldier was later chief of police of Aberdeen. 

I have met more than one young man from the North- 
west among the soldiers, and one woman whom I shall call 
Miss Peggy Red-head. She is quite the reigning sensation 
of the ship. Shortly after our embarkation she appeared 
for dinner at the captain's table, in full evening dress, an 
attractive, smiling and vivacious young woman. She had 
the art of demure flirtation down to a fine point, for a 
young naval Lieutenant quickly caught the scent and started 
on Peggy's trail. Things progressed famously until an 
Army Captain took a hand. Then followed a great contest, 
for the smiles of the fair Peggy, between Army and Navy. 
The whole ship got interested and was divided into Army 
and Navy, all over Peggy. One night Peggy ostentatiously 



14 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

arose from her seat at the table beside the Lieutenant and 
walked across the saloon to a vacant chair beside the Cap- 
tain — a performance that greatly delighted the amused 
diners. Clearly the Navy had lost. For several days the 
Lieutenant and Peggy sat at meals side by side, not saying 
a word, each trying to freeze the other out. One night 
Peggy appeared with both Army and Navy and sat happily 
between them, all three evidently on the most amicable 
terms. What had happened nobody else knows ; but clearly 
the war had ended in a truce. 

The other night, after a particularly dreary sermon by a 
fat Major — clergyman — which the editors had faithfully at- 
tended in a body, and while they had remained to discuss 
the right of the preacher to scare us nearly to death by his 
tales of death and horror at the front — which he did — a 
young woman from Chicago approached us and asked us 
what we thought of men who would pay all their attention 
to a frivolous young chit like Peggy, and ignore and neglect 
serious and dutiful young women like herself, who were 
going to France to take a woman's part in the war. On the 
defensive, we all chorused that we had nothing to do with 
Peggy, except to watch her and her admirers. 

"That's just it," she replied. "You have given a thought 
to no other woman, but have openly applauded and encour- 
aged such a trifler, and you have left us" — there were a 
number in her party — "in doubt as to whether we are 
wanted by the boys in France, or anywhere. Can we get 
a hearing? Will they listen to us? Can we do any good? 
What's the use? Oh! what's the use?" and she burst into 
tears. 

There was a mighty uncomfortable group of editors, who 
weakly sought to say that they had been interested in 
Peggy's performances only as a vaudeville stunt, and they 
didn't even know her, and they supposed the Y. M. C. A. 
woman had no thought for mere civilians, and they would 
be glad to reform their ways, and devote whatever time to 
these young ladies that they cared to give — and so on. 

It developed that the Chicago woman, who is a public 
entertainer, had been asked to quit her work there and go 
to the front. She had left four children, and clearly she 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 15 

was lonesome and homesick. Well, she was not alone in 
that respect. She had been overwhelmed by a sense of 
neglect, and she had taken it out on us innocent and per- 
fectly respectable journalists. 

Meanwhile, Peggy has in part abandoned the Army Cap- 
tain and the naval Lieutenant and is nursing sick soldiers 
and doing noble service.* 

At Sea, October 4, 1918. 

*I saw Peggy later in London, at the Savoy Hotel. She was being faith- 
fully attended by the young Navy Lieutenant. The Army had disappeared. 
On the day of the signing of the armistice — November 11 — I found her on the 
Strand, in the midst of a great crowd, trying to make her way to the Savoy. She 
was in the uniform of an ambulance driver of the Canadian army. I volunteered 
to escort her to the hotel; but, being without proper diligence in such enterprises, 
I lost her in the crowd and did not see her again. 



FOURTH LETTER. 



THE STORM. 

A SEA VOYAGE without a storm would come to be 
a monotonous affair. We had it to crown the 
events of many fruitful days. It is not yet over. 
The hurricane was no sudden outbreak. It was the appro- 
priate climax of the drama of clamor and sensation which 
old Neptune has been staging for us in the past week. 

There have been continuous gales for the latter part of 
our journey, which began under a mild sun and amid balmy 
breezes, so that long hours of the day might be passed 
tranquilly on the decks. That is the way most of the trav- 
elers spent their time, watching the changing movement of 
sea and sky, in which the marching ships were gloriously 
set, a mighty picture of never-ending majesty and beauty. 
But for several days now the shrill winds and choppy seas 
have made it safer and more comfortable to stay in the 
saloon or smoking-room. 

A disagreeable day had ended without special incident. 
The fleet was approaching the coast, it was said — some 
coast, not known then nor now by its geographical location 
or name to the people on shipboard, except to the officers. 
The way they have kept their secret of our course and desti- 
nation is a tribute to their powers of restraint and sense of 
duty. From the south or west during the night sprang up 
a gale, beside which all other offerings of Boreas were 
zephyrs. But we were running with it, and beyond a con- 
sciousness that the vessel was sweeping along with longer 
strides than common, it seemed nothing exceptional. 

The passenger who had eaten his breakfast in the en- 
closed and darkened saloon and then mounted to the smok- 
ing-room on the promenade deck saw strange sights. The 
sea was one rolling prairie of green, surfaced with a soapy, 
sickly, streaky foam. The vessel was speeding with approx- 
imate ease before the tempest, mounting the crest of a 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 17 

great wave, then pointing her stem down and running like 
a deerhound into the vast valley below, only to climb the 
long incline beyond. 

It was as if one stood on a great mountain and looked out 
upon a wide vista of formidable peaks all around him, sink- 
ing at last into the distant horizon. It was a vast contour 
map of heaving hills and vanishing vales, and we took our 
unsteady way through and over them. 

Outside it was a different story. Two torpedo-boats, 
probably from the flotilla which had come to meet us, were 
struggling hard to keep at our side. One of them was quite 
near, a creature of four smokestacks, steaming her difficult 
course along. Careening to one side and then the other, 
sticking her sharp prow into the teeth of the wave, stand- 
ing almost literally on her tail, and then, by a quick, gym- 
nastic twist, utterly reversing her advance, the brave little 
craft was not making good weather of it. One time she 
balanced on a billow, her bow and stern both in the air, her 
propeller running futilely. 

Her companion, a mere cockleshell, was performing the 
same marvelous stunts, threading her uneven road among 
hillocks and hollows of water in a fashion quite wonderful. 
They say that a destroyer is practically unsinkable. It is 
believable from what we saw; yet how one could live in a 
tenement so unsure and topsyturvical is beyond all under- 
standing. Fancy having the floor of one's house a mere 
moving platform, assuming each moment a new and terrible 
angle, and fancy the walls leaving their orderly place beside 
you and whirling around you, above you, below you, in a 
varying succession of inconceivable pranks. 

The mere physical effort of getting along in such sur- 
roundings must be very great; but the mental strain must 
be even worse — far worse. Yet men, knowing the nature 
of the task before them, undertake thus to safeguard the 
precious lives of countrymen and allies. Hats off to the 
heroes of the American and British navies ! 

The business of flying before the storm was soon to end 
for us. Through the spume and mist the outlines of land 
appeared, not many miles away. Quite obviously, if our 
course was not soon changed, there would be real trouble. 



18 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

The ship turned slowly and heavily to the open sea. A huge 
wave struck her broadside, and every man in the room went 
tumbling in a skelter of struggling arms and legs, chairs 
and tables and debris to the lower side, landing in a mass. 

That was enough for one of them. He went below to 
the saloon, where the sight of the threatening seas would 
be shut from his vision. The tables were set for luncheon, 
and a quick lurch threw the dishes clattering to the floor. 
People began to come in from their cabins seeking the 
solace of sterner spirits. A mighty bump was felt, and a 
loud smash was heard above, and a cascade of water came 
tearing down the staircase, drenching to the skin many 
persons near, and literally flooding the saloon floor. The 
dismayed passengers sought safety and dryness by climbing 
chairs and settees and even tables. Then a disorderly pro- 
cession of bedraggled and laughing men — their laughter a 
trifle forced, perhaps — came hurrying down from the 
smoking-room above. The water had smashed in all win- 
dows and had piled them up together in one corner in a 
soaked and choking jumble. They, too, then, had enough, 
and came down. 

The torrent of water soon disappeared from the saloon, 
and went pouring into the staterooms below. Frightened 
women, a few of them carrying children, wet through and 
through, came up the companion ways, and joined the others 
in their nervous wait for whatever might happen. Big 
Steve, he of the jovial spirit and abounding good nature, 
called out "what a beauty" whenever a wave struck, and a 
Chicago woman began to sing a topical song. 

A few sought to join in the chorus, but they failed. 
Someone loudly called out "Damn the Kaiser" when a lurch 
occurred, and was so pleased with the reception of his bon 
mot that he repeated it many times. A demure young 
woman, with feet wet and skirts soused, took off her 
stockings and put others on. The voyaging editors, resolved 
to do their duty, gathered together, and conversed noisily, 
and the story-tellers were, or tried to be, at their best. The 
calm demeanor of their leader, a famous Alabama editor, 
was only equaled in its reassuring effect by the display of 
real nerve and cool spirit by their youngest member, the 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 19 

Buffalo publisher. He had been eight times across the 
Atlantic, and said he was not scared. Apparently he wasn't. 

A Danish sea captain, calmly reading a book in a quiet 
corner, regarded the antics of the journalists and the other 
entertainers with pleased benevolence. A Y. M. C. A. man 
got on the job, and radiated smiles. The morale of the 
nerve-shaken party was fairly well restored, despite the 
smashing uproar of the seas outside. Then someone brought 
in word that the wireless apparatus had broken down, and 
the loosened wires were stringing out into the seas. It was 
true. But it is also true that the intrepid operator and a 
helper ascended the rigging in the face of the gale and fixed 
it. "Not a very good job," he said later, "but it will hold." 
It was apparently all in a day's work. 

Aloft in the crow's nest, reached by ladders of rope, two 
or more young sailors had alternated in their watch. It 
was something of a sight, in pleasanter hours, to watch one 
young mariner ascend, and the other come down. When 
one of them went somehow to his station, on the previous 
night, it had been to find the nest empty. His mate had 
literally been blown out of it, and into the water. A high 
wave which went clean over the ship had smashed one life- 
boat to smithereens. Other damage was done to the after 
cabins on the upper decks. But the injuries to the staunch 
vessel were on the whole not material. 

After an hour of a gallant struggle out to the open sea, 
the apprehensive shut-ins noted that there was less tossing 
and straining, and soon there was a return to comparative 
stability, accompanied by a restored mental and moral 
equilibrium. The commander, a young man, but noted for 
his skill as a navigator, had turned the ship into the eye of 
the wind, pointing her directly away from her destination. 
He was marking time until it might be safe to resume. A 
trip to the stern, through long inside companion ways — the 
decks were forbidden to all but the crew — showed less 
crested whiteness on the sea, but the same great rhythm 
and might of motion. The waves had gone down only a 
little. 

For several hours we rode the waves in this fashion, and 
then an attempt was made to resume the course. It failed. 



20 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

Two hours later, about 6 or 7 o'clock, it was again attempted, 
and this time it succeeded. After the turning movement, 
there were no upsetting clashes between ship and ocean. 
Tea was served as usual, and then dinner; but the attend- 
ance was not large. Appetites had disappeared. Somewhere 
and somehow the fleet and warships were lost to us. It 
was reported that one blue-funneled companion vessel had 
been seen to reel over, and, being instantly struck by a suc- 
ceeding wave, had dipped until her stacks were flat with 
the water. She righted herself, luckily, and disappeared in 
the storm. Just now we are taking our course alone. The 
storm is said to be God's best protection against the sub- 
marines. We are now where they are supposed to be. 

Later. — We have arrived safely at our English port, a 
good deal shaken, but quite willing and able to land. The 
other ships, with a single exception, have duly reported. 

Liverpool, October 8, 1918. 



Later. — (October 12.) — The loss of the steamship 
Otranto off the Irish Coast, with 431 missing and 590 
rescued (of whom 100 later died), has now been officially 
announced. She was a member of our fleet and was con- 
spicuous among many ships by the remarkable nature of 
her camouflage — long and queerly colored streaks along 
her side, descending at bow and stern into the water, giving, 
as it was intended to give, a distinct impression of a vessel 
keeled over and sinking. That anyone could have been saved 
from her after collision with the Kashmir, in such a sea, is 
almost beyond belief. The present writer, when he first 
looked out on the waters on that fateful Sunday morning, 
saw two destroyers. Later he saw one of them turn in the 
storm, and go in another direction. He wondered why she 
had changed her course and left us. Probably she had just 
had a summons by wireless from the sinking Otranto, and 
was then responding to the call of duty. The rescue was a 
performance as astounding as it was noble. 



FIFTH LETTER. 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF ENGLAND. 

THE debarkation at the British port (Liverpool) was a 
tedious affair. But we were quite patient over the 
formalities. We were in safe waters, and duly thank- 
ful after our deliverance. There were passports to be ex- 
amined, customs matters to be arranged, trunks to be got 
out of the hold, and all the other details of a long journey's 
end to be looked after. 

An excursion steamer, a flat-looking affair, built after 
the manner of a ferryboat, came puffing out from a landing 
with an American flag at her masthead, and a lot of people 
crowded on her decks. She steamed around us, and her 
passengers waved flags and handkerchiefs, and the soldiers 
gave answering cheers. Then a brisk young man came 
from somewhere and took us in charge. He was from the 
Ministry of Information. 

Soon a polite and soldierly gentleman met us, a Major 
Wrench, and notified us that from now on we should be 
with him, or some other official representative in his place. 
Then there was a Colonel and a Captain, the latter a strap- 
ping, upstanding individual, with a lame arm won at 
Gallipoli. 

A fine hotel was the seat of our night's entertainment, 
the first quiet place we had found for eating and sleeping 
in almost two weeks. The comfort of dining at a table 
which does not rise constantly to look one in the face, and of 
sleeping in a bed which stays put, is not to be thoroughly 
appreciated except after an experience like ours. 

A look about the town early next morning, to get a 
first impression of England in war-time, disclosed sundry 
novelties. The streets had been but dimly lighted when we 
arrived, and not much could be seen. Stores do not open till 
9 o'clock. There was but little movement in the streets. 



22 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

But double-decked 'busses were going and coming, passing 
on the left, and the trams, and there were old and quaint 
buildings with occasional new and modern structures, nar- 
row and irregular streets with pavements of cobblestone 
and basalt, and statues, many of them of great men. 

There was a magnificent city hall with a great Welling- 
ton statue — you see figures of the conqueror of Napoleon in 
every city — an equestrian effigy of Queen Victoria and an- 
other of her consort, "a wise and good prince." England 
honors, and does not forget, her great rulers, statesmen 
and soldiers. The only disadvantage about the national 
habit of erecting statues may be that the heroes of one 
generation may not be remembered by the next. But per- 
haps that is a good reason why there should be a permanent 
reminder of their lives and services. 

The weather threatened rain, just like Oregon. Later it 
rained, just like Oregon. About midnight, however, there 
had been a thunderstorm, not like Oregon. 

The likeness to Oregon, to one who has just discovered 
England, does not end with the weather. The hills, the 
fields, the trees, the foliage, all bring the home state con- 
stantly to one's thoughts. Or perhaps it is something ap- 
proaching homesickness. Yet probably not. The green 
and gentle hills are thoroughly cultivated. The houses are 
of brick, as everyone knows. The fences are hedges, as 
everyone also knows. But with these exceptions and others 
like them, growing out of tradition and the long cultivation 
and occupation of the country, you have in the heart of 
England another Willamette Valley. 

At London the editors were taken to the Savoy, a 
luxurious hotel in the center of the city. Then there were 
immediate preparations for their entertainment. Someone 
from the British Ministry showed up every few minutes. 
There was a disconcerting number of invitations to lunch- 
eons, dinners and other formal affairs. Reporters began to 
appear and the London papers gave adequate notice of the 
arrival of so distinguished and interesting a party. Evi- 
dently they regard the journalists as the messengers of the 
new era of understanding and good will between England 
and America. Quite frankly, that is what Engand is think- 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 23 

ing about — a League of Nations, perhaps, or probably; 
ah, yes. 

The London papers are, by the way, rather sorry affairs, 
all due to the war. The Morning Mail, for example, is down 
to four and six pages, where formerly it had twice or three 
times as many. The great Times prints from twelve to 
fourteen pages. The shortage of paper, and not war poverty, 
is the reason. One has to get used to the English news- 
papers. Like the average Englishman, they consistently 
hide their good qualities so that you have to hunt all 
through, over, above, below and around them to learn what 
is in them. Your Englishman continues to be an island, so 
that you must paddle around him quite a while before he 
will notice you. But when he does it, he does it better than 
most others, perhaps all others. 

Just now England is going far to acquire and hold the 
good opinion of America. It is a wide departure from the 
common English pose. But the effort is sincere and genuine, 
I think. If we have had differences of temper, thought, 
outlook, manners and speech, we must take our share of the 
responsibility. If the English have not understood us, we 
have persisted in our misunderstanding of them. One very 
definite example of our misconception is the caricature of an 
Englishman which we always put on the stage. 

The first event on the formal programme for the editors 
was a visit to a proving field for tanks, at a point near 
London. The evolutions of the ugly moving fortresses were 
quite wonderful. We saw them all, and we learned a lot, 
but it is not to be written here now. 

The most interesting affair of the day was a luncheon 
by Lord Northcliffe at The Times for both the first and 
second parties of editors and writers. The first group is 
now on its way home and has just arrived from France. 
The affair was conducted with great punctilio. The chair- 
man was His Lordship, and the ceremonies were in the 
hands of a solemn but most august functionary known here 
as the toastmaster. He announced to the host the name and 
station of each arriving guest, and, standing at the banquet 
table behind the chairman, acted as prompter and manager. 
It is said that he is considered an indispensable ornament 



24 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

to all formal English functions. King George has one for 
his own exclusive use. 

Lord Northcliffe, who had honored the editors with a 
personal call the previous day, is a business-like person; 
vigorous, polite, precise and quite plain spoken. He is not 
blunt, but he can always be understood, which is more than 
can be said of other Englishmen, who have a habit of 
dropping syllables and Words quite confusing to Americans. 
It is mostly a matter of accent, for it is a fact that English- 
men understand one another's speech and its peculiarities 
perfectly. They have the same difficulty about adjusting 
themselves to our idioms and mannerisms, no doubt. 

The Times is a British institution, which explains 
perhaps why the traditional formalities are preserved in 
all its performances. One of the guests, to whom had been 
introduced an editor of the Times, and who had asked 
"What Times — New York or London ?" was loftily reminded 
that there is only one "Times." The guest knew it, and was 
glad of it, but did not say so. It was an act of commendable 
self-restraint. "The Times" man meant no offense, only he 
felt that he had a right to assert on all occasions the ex- 
clusive and dominant position of the Thunderer in world 
journalism. 

Times Square has been the seat of printing for more than 
300 years. It is at the site of one of Shakespeare's theaters, 
and there also, to this day, in a fine state of preservation, 
is the town house of the Walter family, founders and pub- 
lishers of the great paper for three generations, and yet in 
nominal control, for a Walter must always be president of 
the corporation. 

Lord Northcliffe made an admirable speech of welcome, 
the keynote of which was America's noble part in the war 
and the closer union of the two great branches of the 
English-speaking race. It was fitly responded to by repre- 
sentatives of the editors. The Times devotes several col- 
umns to the event, printing all the addresses in full, after 
the British journalistic fashion. 

Perhaps it will be justifiable to give a list of those 
present, as printed in The Times, just to show the quality 
of the function : 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 25 

American Editors (First Party). 
Edward Bok, Ladies' Home Journal; Duncan Clark, Chicago Evening Post; 
Alfred Holman, San Francisco Argonaut; Dr. Charles R. L. Van Hise, President 
Wisconsin University; F. W. Kellogg, San Francisco Call; L. W. Nieman, Milwau- 
kee Journal; R. T. Oulihan, New York Sun and New York Times; Ellery Sedgwick, 
Atlantic Monthly; Dr. Albert Shaw, Review of Reviews; James N. Thomson, New 
Orleans Item; C. H. Towne, McClure's Magazine; Dr. E. J. Wheeler, Everybody's 
Magazine. 

American Editors (Second Party). 

Edward W. Barrett, Birmingham Age-Herald, Alabama; E. H. Butler, Buffalo 
Evening News; F. P. Glass, Birmingham News, Alabama; H. V. Jones, The Jour- 
nal, Minneapolis; F. R. Kent, Baltimore Sun; A. M. McKay, Salt Lake City- 
Tribune; E. H. O'Hara, Syracuse Herald, New York; W. A, Patterson, Western 
Newspaper Union; E. B. Piper, Portland Oregonian; E. L. Ray, St. Louis Globe- 
Democrat; C. A. Rook, Pittsburg Dispatch; L. Young, Des Moines Capital. 

Others present were : 

Irwin Laughlin, American Charge d' Affaires; the Earl of Reading, G. C. B. ; 
Lord Burnham, Lord Rothermere, Vice-Admiral W. S. Sims, G. C. M. G. ; E. C. 
Shoecraft, Sir A. Conan Doyle, H. G. Wells, Sir George Riddell, Captain Sir Row- 
land Blades, Captain Sir Guy Gaunt, Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Campbell Stuart, K 

B. E.; Major Evelyn Wrench, Colonel the Hon. A. G. Murray, M. P.; H. J. Lea- 
royd, C. M. G. ; Valentine Wallace, W. Sutherland, G. A. Sutton, W. A. Ackland, 

C. I. Beattie, J. P. Bland, G. M. Brumwell, H. Corbett, M. Humphrey Davy, Geof- 
frey Dawson, Lloyd Evans, T. E. Mackenzie, H. G. Price, O. B. E. ; W. Lints Smith, 
H. W. Steed. 

London, October 10, 1918. 



SIXTH LETTER. 



A GRAND DAY WITH ROYALTY. 

THE American editors, on tour of England, were noti- 
fied after a round of rather severe social entertain- 
ments and of dutiful attendance upon various political 
functions, that King George and Queen Mary would be 
graciously pleased to receive them at Sandringham on 
Sunday, October 13. It was intimated that it was a most 
unusual concession, for His Majesty and his court preferred 
to observe the traditions and keep themselves to themselves, 
apart from the formalities of their position, at their country 
seat — on the Sabbath day, at least. 

Sandringham is the Summer home of royalty, about one 
hundred miles from London on the eastern coast, near the 
sea. It had been acquired and developed by King Albert 
Edward, and was his private estate, the location of his fine 
racing stables and splendid gardens, and it is now the 
permanent residence of his widow, Queen Alexandra. The 
first group of American magazine and periodical editors and 
writers, through a coincidence now in London, were also 
included in the royal command, and together all were to go, 
furnishing for His Majesty his first personal view of com- 
posite American journalism. The proposed audience, it 
was hinted by those who arranged it, was substantial and 
convincing evidence of the high interest of the King in the 
forthcoming entente between the two great English-speak- 
ing nations. One hears much on that fruitful subject just 
now in England. 

The first result of the royal invitation was to throw the 
gratified editors into a flutter of discussion about the kind 
of dress needed for a court presentation. The Ministry of 
Information, which has the journalists in charge, gravely 
informed them, however, that it was to be no formal 
occasion, but a social and unofficial visit at the week-end to 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 27 

Sandringham, and that nobody need to lie awake o'nights 
worrying about whether to wear a high hat and morning 
dress, or the usual work-a-day suit of the average American. 
But the decision of the Ministry did not entirely settle this 
important matter, nor did the Ministry itself adhere to its 
ruling for informality. Some officious personage came 
hurriedly from headquarters and announced that it would 
be strictly de rigeur to wear a top hat and a cutaway, and 
other such apparel. After due arrangements had been 
made to accord with this latest decision as to the correct 
thing in court fashions, someone higher in authority at the 
last moment gave out final word that everybody might 
dress as he pleased, but that the King would undoubtedly 
prefer to see his guests in the costumes they ordinarily 
wear at home. The controversy being thus happily con- 
cluded, the editors started off for Sandringham in the garb 
which each of them thought best suited to his style of 
beauty. For the most part, silk hats went by the board. 

The time of the visit was most auspicious. Great news 
had just come out of Germany to the effect that it had 
decided to capitulate, after four years and more of war, and 
it was to be supposed that the atmosphere about Sandring- 
ham would be most congenial for felicitations. There are 
no Sunday papers worth the name in Great Britain, but the 
King, of course, had his own private information about the 
happy turn of events. A royal messenger was indeed on the 
train which bore the twenty-three Americans to Sandring- 
ham. His office was to tell King George what he already 
knew. 

The journey to Sandringham was taken in a special 
train, under a semi-cloudy sky, through a lovely landscape. 
There was a glimpse of the famous college town of Cam- 
bridge, and of the historic cathedral at Ely. The party 
arrived at the Sandringham Station, reserved for the guests 
of royalty, about 2 o'clock, and found waiting there three 
spick-and-span carryalls. There had meanwhile been received 
from the major domo of the Ministry specific instructions 
as to how the party was to be received. They were to be 
divided into three groups, and each of them was to enter 
the august presence separately, and was to remain not more 



28 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

than ten minutes. It was expected that His Majesty would 
have had quite enough in that brief period. But it proved 
that this thoughtful prevision of the courtiers who seek to 
decide just who shall be privileged to bask in the smiles of 
royalty, and how long, was erroneous. For the King upset 
the entire programme and had a bully day with his visitors, 
as Mr. Roosevelt might call it ; so did his family. All cere- 
mony was quickly waived and forgotten, and everybody 
had a grand time. 

Sandringham is a noble estate, with fine drives, spacious 
lawns, prodigal greenery and scattered lakes and ponds. 
Queen Alexandra, the mother of the King, occupied the 
"Castle," which is no castle at all, but a fine country home. 
The King dwells, during his stay there, in a comparatively 
modest place called York Cottage. Here he rests for several 
weeks in the Summer — the pheasant-hunting season — and 
here all the children of George and Mary were born. 

A drive of about a mile through winding ways and over 
an attractive landscape brought the party to Sandringham. 
A functionary in a bright red coat, decorated with many 
medals, indicating worthy service in the Life Guards, 
ushered them into the waiting-room. There were other 
officials who had no special insignia of rank or station, and 
who, with well-bred ease, put themselves so much at the 
disposal of the guests that they soon felt quite at home. 

King George was attended by Queen Mary, the Dowager 
Queen Alexandra, Princess Mary (his daughter), Princess 
Victoria (his sister) and several ladies-in-waiting. A very 
old man, Sir Richard Probyn, a hero of Indian warfare, and 
possessor of the Victoria Cross, was the personal attendant 
and courtier of Queen Alexandra. The King was garbed 
in an ordinary business suit, with gray spats, and a red 
neck-tie, and all the court ladies were dressed much as one 
sees every day the women of America, in any American 
city, in an admirably fitted tailored suit. There was no 
ostentation of stiffness, and but little ceremony. The party 
had been individually warned not to offer to shake hands 
with the King or Queen unless they first made the approach, 
which they did in every instance. "Address him always as 
'Your Majesty' and the Queen in the same way, and the 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 29 

Princess as 'Your Highness'" it was said. Some of the 
editors perhaps forgot the rules, but no one attempted any 
familiarity, and certainly none was invited; but everyone 
of the royal personages, after the introductions, descended 
into easy conversation with someone or other of the 
Americans. 

The pictures of King George do not do him justice. He 
is animated in action, ready and distinct in speech, with an 
inclination toward the humorous, and affable in manner, 
without condescension. He is not afflicted with the English 
habit of smothering his words, and he is at a loss at no time 
for something to say. He expressed to all the editors, 
without constraint, his pleasure at their visit, and showed 
an understanding of American affairs, and of the purpose 
of their coming to England, which was quite surprising. 
It is not permissible to quote him directly on any matter of 
politics or statecraft, but probably it will not be objection- 
able to repeat that he is in accord with the sentiment 
in England for a close union with the great American 
Republic — no binding agreement, no formal league, no 
contract alliance, merely a rapprochement which would pre- 
vent any vital disagreements, and which would mean 
harmony and unity among all the English-speaking nations 
of the world, with resultant benefit to civilization and 
humanity. Some one had the temerity to say that the 
Republican party in America sadly needs a candidate for 
President, and asked if the King might not come to America 
and stand for the nomination with the assurance of certain 
election. The King merely responded to the novel sugges- 
tion With a loud "Ha-Ha." The laugh of England's King is 
ready and contagious. He understands an American joke. 
He likes baseball, too. He was immensely interested in his 
several reviews of American troops, and he permitted it to 
be understood that he would like soon to see again the 
American soldiers in camp or on march. 

After many pleasantries with the King and Queen and 
their attendants, the guests were asked if they might not 
desire to go over Sandringham. All were, of course, 
delighted to say yes, and the whole company started, under 
the guidance of the King and Queen, over the grounds. The 



30 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

King and Queen walk rapidly. First there was a visit to York 
Cottage, where there was an intimate view of how the royal 
family lives. Some one of the King's entourage took charge 
of certain groups of the editors, and each appeared to be 
anxious to show the advantages and attractions of the great 
estate at its best. One curious journalist asked half a dozen 
lords and ladies in turn what was the area of Sandringham ; 
and all said they did not know. But the King promptly 
settled all doubts by ruling that it is 15,000 acres. 

York Cottage is a plain brick dwelling of 15 or 20 rooms, 
of only moderate size, with a workshop or study for the 
King. If there were any special courtiers or equerries 
there, they were not seen. The equipment in furniture and 
in modern conveniences was complete, and in some respects 
elegant; but there are many homes in America, some of 
them in Portland, which might be compared favorably 
with it. 

There was a long tour afoot to the gardens and to the 
stables, both the particular hobby of King Albert Edward. 
A pony and cart, driven by the faithful Probyn, followed 
the company around. It was for the use of Queen Alex- 
andra, but she went the entire rounds with the others, and 
did not at any time appear to lose interest in her guests or 
in what they were saying and seeing. 

In the vicinity of the royal stables is a great statue of 
Persimmon, which won the Derby in 1896, and which was a 
pet of the former King. He was bred in Sandringham. It 
is a magnificent effigy of a splendid horse. In the stables 
were many animals, each in charge of an attendant, who 
brought them out for exhibition. Both the King and Queen, 
and the Dowager Queen, busied themselves in passing to the 
thoroughbreds carrots, which they took with great gusto. 
In all, there must be 100 first-class animals in the stables. 
The chief of the stud is Friar Marcus, which was never 
beaten as a 2-year-old. 

Several members of the party who had the fortune to 
fall in with Queen Alexandra were asked to accompany 
her to a place she called a "workshop." It appears to be 
modeled somewhat after the artcraft establishments com- 
mon in America. There were many beautiful specimens of 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 31 

delicate hand-made furniture. The companions of the 
Queen were delighted with what they saw, and said so, of 
course, whereupon she graciously presented to each of the 
surprised and somewhat embarrassed Americans a tea-table 
or sewing table. One of the pieces will go to Buffalo, one 
to San Francisco and one to Portland. 

The tour was completed by a second visit to Sandring- 
ham, where tea was served. It was a rather elaborate 
function, though all the royal party continued to mingle 
with the visitors in the most democratic fashion. The King 
later expressed a desire to show the editors his library, 
doubtless with the idea that it should be of special interest 
to men in a supposedly literary calling, as it was. It had 
been a bowling alley, but King Albert Edward had thought 
it would be more useful and ornamental as a place of study 
and reflection, and he made the change. Then the King 
led the way to Sandringham Chapel, a wonderful little 
house of worship, with many appropriate decorations and 
memorials. Then he took them back to his reception-room, 
where he and the royal group bade good-bye to all their 
guests, shaking hands with each in turn. If they were 
asked to come again, at least one of the Americans did not 
hear it. It may be assumed that it is not the royal custom, 
for there was every evidence to show that the hosts were as 
pleased with the visit as the guests were. 

The King has the appearance and manner of an alert, 
quick-thinking, well-informed, well-groomed, middle-aged 
man of business. Queen Mary, a stately and even beautiful 
woman, with something of the grand manner, was through- 
out most gracious to her visitors, and entered into the 
festivities in a very lively spirit. Queen Alexandra, dressed 
in complete black, has a noble presence, with an indescrib- 
able personal charm. Princess Mary, yet a very young 
lady, was garbed quite simply, but most tastefully ; she was 
everywhere among the editors, who found it impossible to 
resist her girlish and vivid personality. 

It was a great day for the editors. They saw the King 
and Queen, and the King and Queen saw them. 

London, England, October 13, 1918. 



SEVENTH LETTER. 



THE GRAND FLEET. 

THE naval fiction that no one outside official circles 
is to know the exact base of the grand fleet is still 
extant. Everyone, in fact, knows; for he has seen 
it, or certain powerful units of it, at some port in England, 
or Scotland, or Ireland, or perchance on the high seas, look- 
ing or waiting for the chastened enemy that skulks behind 
the iron barriers of Heligoland or the invincible gates of the 
Kiel Canal. 

The real location of the grand fleet is anywhere in the 
world that a German battlefleet — if there is really such a 
thing as a German battlefleet — may be found. 

Of course, the combined British and American armada 
has to start from somewhere, and go back to that same or 
some other somewhere, to get fuel and supplies, or make 
repairs, or otherwise to keep the ships in a state of constant 
readiness for the encounter which never comes. 

To be sure, there is Jutland, where a number of German 
warships, out for exercise, or on some other mission 
entirely foreign to the boasted German plan of challenging 
the British and Americans to open combat on the seas, 
stumbled into a company of British cruisers in their daily 
hunt for something to shoot at. 

It was an unhappy mischance for the German. He 
fought, indeed, and he ran as fast as he could. Then he 
beat the British to the cable office, and sent out a false 
account of a great German victory. For a time the world, 
which did not then understand the devious methods of 
German propaganda as well as it does now, thought the 
grand fleet had met an outright reverse. 

The truth appears to be that some British ships were 
sunk, and some German ships were sunk, and that the 
Germans then got out of the way in record time. They 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 33 

knew better than to take the chance of a collision with the 
capital ships of England. What they had met was merely 
a cruising squadron. 

There Was that other time, too, when in the process of 
terrorization by Germany a favorite device of frightf ulness 
was to bombard the defenseless towns of the British Coast. 
In the gray of a certain morning, the raiding Huns ran 
smack into a lot of British battle-cruisers. 

What followed is history. There was a running fight, 
and the Blucher was sunk, and other satisfactory casualties 
were inflicted. Except for the Jutland misadventure, the 
Germans have since thought it best to stay behind the 
impregnable defenses of the shore land. 

The British fleet is prepared always for action. It scours 
the North Sea and the North Atlantic Ocean day and night. 
It makes war on the submarine, so that it is now about 
one-fourth as effective as it once was. There are now 5000 
vessels in the anti-submarine division alone. It is said not 
to be permissible to give out figures. But Admiral Sims, 
of the American Navy, did it, the other day, in a public 
speech ; and his estimate is given here. Most of the 5000 
belong to the British navy. 

A feature of the itinerary of the American editors was 
to see the grand fleet. The exact whereabouts of the great 
battle organization was purposely left in mystery. The 
editors were not blindfolded and taken over unknown routes 
to unknown waters to their destination. Not that; but 
they could not divulge names, or places, or numbers, or 
formations or technical details of any kind. 

Obviously, if they are to keep their promise, they would 
be much handicapped. It would seem to be small satisfac- 
tion to a journalist to see a thing, particularly so mighty a 
thing, if he is not to tell about it. It may be done in general 
terms so long as he gives no information. 

The fleet inspected by the editors was in harbor, and not 
in the North Sea nor the Atlantic. The harbor was a large 
harbor, a deep one and a well-protected one, and a very busy 
one. There were many warships there ; more than one and 
less than a thousand. There were more, indeed, by many 
times than any of the visitors had ever seen anywhere, or 



34 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

ever expected to see, and more probably than ever were 
brought together anywhere prior to this War. They were 
at their stations in regular order, waiting, waiting, waiting — 
waiting for something to turn up. 

Every once in a while there is an alarm. A squadron, 
or several squadrons, are notified to get ready to sail at a 
moment's notice. Perhaps they get the word to go, perhaps 
they do not. It is all practice. Or perhaps there is actual 
notice, through observations from the air, or from remote 
seas, that something is doing, in the directions where the 
Germans are known to be, and then away the ships speed in 
search of the foe that prefers to fight at a safe distance or 
not at all, or to strike from behind or beneath when he does 
strike. 

It is wearing business. But the British have kept 
pluckily at it for four years and more, and the Americans 
for one year or more. Some time there may come the day. 
Every British and American sailor hopes for it, prays for it, 
dreams of it. He is fit, and he knows it. He is sure of the 
result. But doubtless he would be just as eager for the 
test if he were not sure. It is the British way, and the 
American way, too. 

You have but to go to Westminster Abbey, or St. Paul's, 
or to other places where Great Britain buries its heroic 
dead, to see how its warriors of the sea are honored. You 
have but to go to the various parts of Great Britain, or to 
walk the streets, or to visit places where men congregate, 
to note how paramount in the life and affairs of the country 
the navy and navy men are. Englishmen, Scotchmen and 
Irishmen exalt the sailor. He is, and long has been, and 
has ever proved to be, the bulwark of the nation. 

The American editors came to a certain city in the north, 
and then were taken in a motorbus to a landing place. It 
was a journey pastoral and peaceful, even to its last stages. 
The first sight of war's actualities — except, of course, 
uniformed men, who are everywhere — was of several great 
searchlights and anti-aircraft guns, located in the heart of 
a vegetable garden. Then from the top of a hill, through a 
vale in which coursed a stream winding its placid way 
among trees loaded down with the beautiful foliage of 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 35 

Autumn in England — or Scotland, as the case may be — 
was caught suddenly the sheen of distant waters, in which 
lay a mighty ship. 

The editors went on, and the vision instantly disap- 
peared. An aeroplane came over the hills, and circled over 
and around the moving car, quite apparently in justifiable 
suspicion of the approach of the visitors. Then a great 
biplane soared slowly along, high in the blue sky. 

The silver white sides of an observation balloon next 
caught the eye; and then another and another, and more 
anothers. We had already seen enough of war to know 
that a great navy is not now merely an aggregation of 
ships, but that balloons and aeroplanes are their indis- 
pensable outposts. The fleet was near. 

At the water there was a confused flotilla of torpedo- 
boats, and destroyers and patrols, and other units of the 
mosquito fleet. By what sad blunder of popular definition 
did these dreaded wasps of the waters become known as 
mosquitoes? Some of them are as large as light cruisers. 
All of them, of whatever type, have had a share in the 
necessary work of running down the skulking submarine. 
Without them the war would long ago have been over. 

Out in the harbor was a dreadnought, the perfect 
image — if photography tells anybody anything — of that 
supreme battleship, the Queen Elizabeth, which first blazed 
her thunderous way through mined waters toward the forts 
of Gallipoli. She was long and low, and dark, and terrible — 
simple and clear in her formidable outlines. Her great guns 
peered out from their turrets; her smaller guns lined her 
frowning sides. 

There was no motion, no stir, no sign of life around 
her, except a launch or two at her landing steps. At the 
stern of the little boat flew an Admiral's pennant. At her 
masthead waved another. Evidently she was the flagship. 
There was no evidence whatever that the advent of the 
editors had created either excitement or consternation. 

Near the flagship were other floating and motionless 
monsters, much like her. They were capital ships, each 
the peer of anything afloat, and all together the unques- 
tionable superiors. Beyond was a long vista of lesser 



36 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

vessels, big, little, fast, slow, modern, combatant or non- 
combatant — all organized into distinct units, for instant 
and efficient action. 

As a picture it was perfect. As a spectacle it was 
glorious. As a lesson it was an incomparable exhibition of 
national power. It was the culmination of a thousand 
years of Great Britain's mastery of the seas. No doubting 
American who has wondered what England has done in the 
war could fail to find his answer here. It was complete, 
all-convincing, tremendous. This fleet saved Great Britain 
from early defeat. It saved the allied cause. It made pos- 
sible America's effective entry into the war. It is the 
foundation and backbone of the entire opposition to Ger- 
many's plan to conquer the world. 

The editors saw it all — all that was lying there waiting 
for the Germans to come out. Perhaps they will, but the 
British, and their allies, the Americans, fear they will stay 
timorously at Kiel and Heligoland to the end. The Amer- 
ican battleships were away on cruise. But the visitors were 
not greatly disappointed. It was evidence that Admiral 
Rodman and his sailors were there to work, and not to play.* 

London, England, October 18, 1918. 

•The location of the grand fleet was the Firth of Forth, Rosyth, near 
Edinburgh. There were about 500 vessels on the water at the time of the 
visit. There were about 40 capital ships — dreadnoughts — and a great variety of 
lesser craft. The most interesting ship was the Courageous, an unarmored 
cruiser, 900 feet long, with 100,000 horsepower and capable of 36 knots. She is 
doubtless the fastest cruiser in the world. Later, on the Clyde, there was an 
inspection of a partly-built cruiser which was to excel the Courageous, with 
120,000 horsepower — more than twice the propulsive capacity of the great Levia- 
than. 



EIGHTH LETTER. 



TRAVELING THE BANQUET ROUTE. 

THE American editors have returned to London from 
their jaunt through Scotland and the north of Eng- 
land. They saw Edinburgh and the grand fleet; 
Glasgow and the vast maritime activities of the Clyde 
River; Carlisle and the famous Gretna munitions works, 
employing many thousand, women; and they came back 
with rather kaleidoscopic impressions of great sights and 
little discomforts; big doings and hasty looks at them; 
cordial welcomes everywhere and small chance to requite 
them. 

The Scotch are a hospitable people, most hospitable. If 
any of the visitors went there with the notion that they 
would be stiff and strange, they came back with quite a 
different opinion. The editors were received and entertained 
in Edinburgh, Glasgow and Carlisle by the respective cor- 
porations, headed by the Lord Provosts in the Scottish 
cities and the Lord Mayors on this side of the line. 

They made a special point in each instance of presenting 
to the Americans a full view of their leading officials and 
most distinguished citizens. There were banquets, of 
course, and they were quite sumptuous affairs. 

The Scottish dinner under official auspices is a cere- 
monious affair. The Lord Provost presides, in his glittering 
regalia. The various municipal dignitaries are also there, 
fully accoutred. If there is a Lord or two or a half dozen 
Baronets and an eminent scientist, or doctor, or barrister, 
or politician, all are expected to be on hand. It is no place 
for anyone who cannot show a good reason why he should 
have a part in representing the city's dignity, prestige and 
interest. 

The hosts and guests assemble in the reception-room, 
and there are formal presentations all around. Then the 



38 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

announcer — if that is his title — or toastmaster, in a bright 
red coat, begins to call out names, and, led by the Lord 
Provost, they march into the banquet-room, in procession. 
It is a most convenient and orderly arrangement and besides 
it settles at once all questions of precedence, which are 
important here. 

After the dinner, which is elaborate, the Lord Provost 
proposes a toast to the King, and all solemnly sing the 
national anthem. Then there is a toast to the President, 
if the visitors are American, and they are expected to sing 
the "Star-Spangled Banner" or "America." 

At Edinburgh, the editors were taken a little unawares 
and did nothing but sit there, songless and motionless. 
Their hosts were polite enough not to say anything about 
the omission, but they were plainly disappointed. 

At Glasgow the Americans concluded that something 
must be done, and they rehearsed the "Star Spangled 
Banner" in advance, under the leadership of one of them 
who knew the first verse, or said he did. Anyway, he had a 
loud voice, and wasn't afraid to make it heard. 

Later, at the banquet, they triumphantly rose to the 
occasion by gathering in one end of the banquet hall and 
lifting their voices in song. There was some stumbling 
and mumbling and the tune was pitched very high, but on 
the whole the effort was a success and led to uproarious 
approval by the Scotch — or what passes in Scotland and 
England for noisy applause. 

The favorite method here is to say "hear, hear," and to 
tap the table politely, and not too vigorously, with one hand. 
For much pounding, of course, would make the dishes rattle ; 
but the result on the whole is satisfactory. 

The Lord Provost makes a long speech of welcome and 
praises America and the spokesman of the editors replies 
in an address equally long, praising the Scotch and the 
English and all hands, and everybody then adjourns to the 
assembly hall, where some time is spent in getting better 
acquainted. 

When 10 o'clock comes everybody goes home. Since the 
dinner is begun not earlier than 7 o'clock, it will be seen 
that the Scotch waste no great amount of time in eating 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 39 

and drinking and speechifying, which is more than can be 
said truthfully of some Americans. 

But there is never a shortage of food or drink — not at 
all. There is plenty, and more, of both. It is said that the 
production of liquor has been reduced in Great Britain 
about 70 per cent. Evidently they are conserving the 
supply for the entertainment and refreshment of visiting 
Americans. 

At Carlisle, just across the line in England from Scot- 
land, is being conducted a great experiment in public 
control of the manufacture and sale of liquor. It is so 
unusual a departure from the traditional rule in England 
of leaving every man and woman to his or her own devices, 
so far as liquor is concerned, that the subject will be treated 
in a later letter. 

For the present it is sufficient to say that with the 
location of the great Gretna works, near Carlisle, employing 
thousands of men and women, there was much drinking 
and drunkenness after work hours, for the most part. The 
situation speedily got beyond control, as it did elsewhere, 
and the government, making special provision for limiting 
the open time for the public houses to 5^ hours (2y 2 in 
midday and three at night) throughout the realm, decided 
to take over entire supervision of liquor sales at Carlisle. 

Many "pubs" were closed, others were maintained and 
some of them were turned into eating houses and numerous 
other innovations were made. The result is that drunken- 
ness has decreased heavily, and the problem has been 
measurably solved, in the English view. 

It is a novelty to see women behind the bars dispensing 
liquor; and it is no less a novelty to find a woman licensee 
of a large place, now conducting it for the Liquor Control, 
as a "pub" and restaurant. 

Women drink at the bars with the men, though not in 
great numbers ; and young boys and girls enter freely, take 
their places at table and order whatever they want. There 
is an age limit, to be sure, but it varies from 16 to 18 years, 
dependent on what the minor asks for. 

The presence of these young people in such places is 
frankly deplorable ; but it is thought here that it is better 



40 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

to have them under observation, in duly licensed and orderly 
places, than to permit them to get their food and drink in 
other ways, leading to practices even more dissolute or 
vicious. 

The English have not got to the point where they regard 
regulation as a compromise with an evil thing. They scout 
prohibition and will have none of it, in war time or in peace. 

The Liquor Control Board, which has been the chief 
factor in Carlisle's affairs, gave the visitors their usual 
banquet. The corporation officers were all there. They 
told with satisfaction what they had done to improve a bad 
condition, and what they hope to do. 

Unquestionably it was a great deal. They served wine, 
of course — a greater variety than had been seen on any 
similar occasion. Immediate access to the sources of supply 
doubtless made it easy for them. 

The banquet is likely to give the visitor a wrong idea of 
England and Scotland in war time. Getting what you want 
at a hotel is ordinarily no easy job. 

The principal hostelries in the provincial towns, such as 
Liverpool, Edinburgh and Carlisle, are fine establishments, 
ordered differently, however, from the American institu- 
tion. There are no baths except the common bath; no 
running water in rooms, no heat except in assembly or 
reading-rooms, and no lights except one or possibly two, 
which you are enjoined to use as little as possible. But the 
beds are good and the service under the conditions is excel- 
lent. 

In the restaurants you can get no sugar, as a rule, and 
it is not easy to eat Scotch porridge or drink English 
coffee without something to kill the taste. There is very 
little butter, and you must have a ration card to get meats, 
except a limited supply of ham or bacon. There is no cream, 
and eggs are not plentiful. 

At Carlisle one of the visitors was a trifle overcome by 
the too profuse hospitality, and he decided to stay in bed on 
the day following the banquet. He wanted a little milk 
toast and a soft-boiled egg for his breakfast, with some 
weak tea, and he asked the obliging maid to get them. 
She came back in due time with a cold bun — there is no 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 41 

such thing as hot bread here — and coffee with thin milk. 
"No heggs in the 'ouse," she said. "You cawn't have 
milk with tea, so I fetched you coffee, 'cos I could get milk 
with it." 

That was all, and it was a sad meal ; but later he man- 
aged by cajolery and by practices approaching bribery to 
persuade the management that an exception should be made 
for an American sojourner, and he got an egg, tea with 
milk, toast (not buttered) and a bowl of hot milk. There 
was no sugar, but in the circumstances he was bound to be 
satisfied. 

Now the editors are back in London, and they are to 
leave for France tomorrow. They are to cross the channel, 
weather and military exigencies permitting, by airplane. 
They are told that it is practically as safe as by water. 
After their experiences with storms in crossing the Atlantic 
they are prepared to believe that any place but the water 
is comparatively secure. Yet some of them are perhaps a 
trifle nervous about their new venture. However, it will 
all be over, one way or the other, by the time this letter is 
read ; so there is no need for anyone to worry — now. 

London, England, October 20, 1918. 



NINTH LETTER. 



THE FLIGHT THAT FAILED. 

AS I WAS saying when interrupted several weeks ago 
by an incident not arranged in the schedule — a 
collision with a lorrie and then with a tree, some- 
where in France — the intrepid editors, a dozen in number, 
were about to fly in an aeroplane across the English 
Channel. It was all provided as a special treat for men who 
had come a long way to look at the war, and who were 
ready for any experience that gave an assurance of a 
maximum of thrills with a minimum of danger. 

It is only a few years since the crossing of the Channel 
in the air was first successfully negotiated. Flying in 
heavier-than-air machines, first an exploit, then a pastime, 
now is a profession. France did more than others to 
develop the sport — so long as it was sport. French aviators 
were the best in the world. Venturesome Frenchmen tried 
repeatedly to fly to London, and regularly failed. But one 
day it was done by a Frenchman named Bleriot, and another 
milepost was passed in the progress of safe aerial naviga- 
tion. 

Now there is no novelty about the passage from England 
to France — or the other way — at any height up to 20,000 
feet above the land and water. It is done every day. 
Indeed, it has been done many thousand times since the 
war began, in as many different aeroplanes. They do not 
ship English air machines as freight from the manufactory 
to the front. They fly them over. That is what they 
are for. 

The great English assembly station for air machines is 
at Lympne, about six miles from Folkestone, in the south- 
east of England. The editors were taken there by train 
from London on a certain Monday morning — October 21 — 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 43 

and there they were to embark in a Handley-Page airplane 
with a perfectly competent pilot. 

It should be said that the intending passengers were a 
trifle particular about both the pilot and the airplane. They 
did not feel that they were justified in making any experi- 
ments, such, for illustration, as embarking with an aviator 
who didn't know the way in a machine that hadn't been 
there before. 

There was some talk, too, about the practical necessity 
of taking so large a machine very high in the air, so that, 
if anything happened to the engines, the navigator could 
have ample time and space to volplane — slide, or glide or 
toboggan — gracefully and easily to land — not water. If 
she lit in the channel, the chances of saving the airplane 
would be slight. It occurred to the editors that the prospect 
of rescuing the inmates of the small prison, called the 
fuselage, which contains the living freight, would also be 
slight; but the safety of the people aboard did not seem to 
enter greatly into the calculations of the British authorities. 

A Handley-Page, with its powerful motors, and its great 
usefulness in bombing expeditions, and similar warlike en- 
terprises, is not easily replaced. One of them costs many 
thousand dollars and it takes a long time to build. The 
particular vehicle in which we were to embark had engines 
of 800-horsepower, and was capable of carrying twenty 
passengers. We had seen under construction at the Beard- 
more plant on the Clyde a Handley-Page with motors of 
2000-horsepower. Undoubtedly it could carry many tons of 
explosives, and sail to Berlin and back — unless the Germans 
stopped it. The whole trip would, of course, have to be 
made at night. To a machine going 120 miles an hour a 
round trip from England to Berlin presents no special dif- 
ficulties, as far as distance is concerned. 

The day was cloudy and misty, with an absence of wind, 
and to the unitiated it seemed ideal for an air voyage. The 
clouds would hide the machine from any prying German 
eyes, or wandering German aces, out for a record — just think 
of some murderous Prussian pirate bagging twelve Amer- 
ican journalists at once! — and the landing could be made 
on the other side in the quiet of the breezeless shores. But 



44 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

just there the pleasant bubble of editorial imagination got 
a rude pin-prick. If it was rainy or foggy in France, they 
were told, it would be dangerous to land at all. With so 
weighty and ponderous a machine, it was vital that the 
pilot see exactly where he was going, and know where he 
was all the time, and be able to land in a place with ample 
room for any necessary maneuver. If he got lost in a fog, 
he was likely to hit the earth unexpectedly — and then 
where was he, and everybody ? 

"However," said the Scotch Colonel in command at 
Lympne, "it may clear up this afternoon, and if you feel 
like going, probably you won't mind just a slight chance of 
a difficult landing." 

"Oh, not at all, not at all," chorused the editors, "though 
of course we wouldn't for the world have you take the risk 
of damaging a valuable Handley-Page machine on our 
account. We can, if necessary, go in the same old way, by 
boat." 

Meanwhile, the visitors were shown about the Lympne 
plant and field. There were about twenty hangars, each 
inhabited by many machines, some of them for repairs, 
others for assembly or rebuilding, and all for service at the 
front. They varied in size from the small Spad to the great 
Handley-Page. Each had its own peculiar merits, or was 
designed for particular service. No description of them can 
be attempted here, for nothing remains in memory but a 
vast and confused picture of many hundred man-made 
flyers, with their spreading wings, their powerful motors, 
and their distinctive marks to show that they belonged to 
the English service. 

The editors kept an anxious eye on the distant horizon 
of France. There, across the calm waters of the peaceful 
channel the clouds hung low, so that the outlook for a 
pleasant sail was quite gloomy. But the aviators at Lympne 
were not greatly disturbed by overhead conditions. One 
after another took his machine from its hangar and sailed 
off into space. They didn't go to France. They were 
merely testing re-made or repaired airplanes, and getting 
ready for the afternoon excursion. For it was said that 
a large fleet of airplanes, designed for war use, would be 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 45 

taken over at the same time, with the grand flight of the 
editors. 

The Colonel invited his guests to luncheon at Lympne 
Castle, an ancient rendezvous of the Archbishop of Canter- 
bury, now headquarters of a small division of the aviation 
corps. In an hour or two, he said, it would be possible to 
determine whether the impatient and irrepressible desire 
of the twelve daring editors to face all the hazards of an 
aerial adventure might not be realized. Before the meal 
was over, the Colonel was called to the telephone, and 
shortly he returned with a beaming countenance. 

"I have just heard from France," he answered, "and 
everything looks better. Probably the fog will clear away 
in an hour or two." 

This cheerful news was received by the editors with 
dignified calmness. Certainly they were glad, and they 
were ready. But would it be too much trouble for the 
Colonel to telephone to France at least once more before the 
time set for embarkation? 

Returning to the aerodromes, the editors saw that things 
were indeed being got in readiness for the mighty venture. 
It gets very cold a few thousand feet in the air and there 
were special coats, electrically heated, for all. There they 
were, piled in a heap, ready for distribution. The Handley- 
Page was hauled out of its cell before their eyes, by a 
tractor, and workmen got busy testing the apparatus, 
adjusting the wings, trying the engine and speeding the 
propeller. It was a nervous moment, but there were no 
visible signs of heart failure in any editor — not one. 

However, it was thought prudent to remind the obliging 
Colonel that he had promised once more to investigate the 
situation on the French front, and he did it. The voyageurs 
meanwhile prepared to say their farewells to English soil, 
to which they had become much attached in their few 
weeks' stay, and to climb aboard. In a few minutes the 
Colonel came out of his office with an obvious appearance 
of consternation. He did not leave anybody long in doubt 
as to what had happened. "It's all off," he said. "It's 
raining in France, and the fogs are settling down, and you'll 
have to go by water." 



46 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

The journalists contrived somehow to conceal their great 
disappointment — some of them, indeed, gave way to a 
hilarity which was entirely simulated — and prepared to 
take the motorcar provided by the Colonel for Folkestone, 
to board the Channel boat. 

The boat was to sail at 3 : 30 P. M. There were necessary 
preliminaries about passports and other formalities to be 
observed. All these things were done in time to embark 
on the fast Channel packet, with about 2000 English soldiers 
returning to the front after furloughs at home. 

The passengers were reminded that the submarine 
menace was still much alive, for they were all notified that 
they must put on life-belts and wear them all the way 
across. Yet it is known that the protection of the Channel 
is so perfectly arranged that in the entire course of the war 
the life of no British soldier has been lost on the short 
passage to France. The unexpected happens, however, and 
any relaxation of caution could not be justified. The only 
incident was the meeting of an airship escorting a returning 
transport. 

The waters were quiet, contrary to rule, and the passage 
was pleasant. The destination was Boulogne, and the 
harbor was reached about 6 o'clock — in the dark. A wait 
of several weary hours was suffered, because of the tides — 
it was said — and then a landing was effected. The party 
was met by two British officers with automobiles. There 
was dinner at a French restaurant — minus butter, milk, 
sugar, as in England — and at 10 o'clock the start was made 
to Radinghem — the visitors' chateau — which was to be 
our rendezvous during the stay at the British front. After 
two hours of swift riding in the night over a fair road and 
through stately trees — Lombardy poplars — Radinghem 
was reached shortly before midnight. 

The British government has found that the visit of 
civilians to the war front is an evil which it must endure, 
and has provided a place for them at Radinghem. It is a 
fine chateau, about 30 miles east of Boulogne, reasonably 
convenient for various British sectors, and equipped with 
everything the most exacting guest might want. To the 
unpracticed eye, it seemed a very old chateau, with its moat 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 47 

and drawbridge, and grim-looking towers. But, in fact, it is 
quite a modern structure, having been built about fifty 
years ago by an Englishman, on the plans of a former 
chateau. It has no heating plant or bathrooms, but it has 
electric light and modern furniture, and an excellent cuisine. 

The editors were comfortably stowed away, each in a 
room for himself, ready for their first encounter with war 
as it is, on the morrow. 

P. S. — The London papers have an account of a flight 
over the city of a Handley-Page with forty passengers. 
Speed of 100 miles per hour was maintained, and a great 
height was reached. Nothing else happened. Among those 
not present were the American editors. 

Radinghem, France, November 5, 1918. 



TENTH LETTER. 



THE GRAND ENTRY INTO THE WAR ZONE. 

STORIES are told that soldiers have been known 
to wear gas masks through the terrors of an all-day 
fight and then to go to their dugouts, or any con- 
venient shellhole, and sleep comfortably all night without 
once removing the hideous headgear. Doubtless the masks 
have saved thousands of lives, and doubtless the strict rules 
made for the wearing of such safety devices by soldiers and 
by civilians, too, are necessary. 

There are still extant painted signboards on 100 battle- 
fields notifying the wayfarer that at a designated place he 
must put on his mask. There is a danger zone where gas 
shells may fall at any time, and the Germans never aban- 
doned their notion that they might asphyxiate their foes 
by drenching them with a cloud of poisonous vapors. 

Probably the wearer in time gets used to the gas mask 
nuisance, though he must learn an entirely new scheme of 
breathing. Just how they instruct horses in the art of using 
the thing is a mystery, but they do it. It may be as im- 
portant to save the life of a horse as of a man. 

The editors were given steel helmets and gas masks at 
Radinghem and told that they must go through a prelimi- 
nary drill and learn to adjust the covering in seven seconds 
or less, before they would be permitted to expose them- 
selves to the surviving risks of the war zone. It was a hard 
task, but they heroically set about it. Then, after various 
tests and adjustments, they were all put in a gas chamber 
to see that no mistakes had been made. It was an ordeal, 
but all came through without mishap. Then they were in- 
formed that they must keep the masks and helmets by 
them in every situation. They did. 

The start from Radinghem was made about 9:30 A. M. 
on October 22 in six headquarters' automobiles under the es- 



/ 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 49 

cort of several British officers. The itinerary for the day- 
was to include Bethune, Givenchy, Armentieres, Bailleul, 
Hazebrouck and Aire and, if possible, the important city of 
Lille, for four years in German hands and just now aban- 
doned by them in their grand strategic retreat to the sup- 
posed safety of Germany. 

At Fruges, a little town only a few miles on the way, 
there was the first real encounter with the doleful results 
of war, if not with its actuality. It was a funeral, a strange 
and interesting affair. The day was cloudy, with occa- 
sional showers and the roads had a surface of sticky mud. 

Up the hill from the center of the village came the little 
procession. At the head was a padre, bearing aloft a 
crucifix. Followed a group of boys with flowers. Then 
came the body on a stretcher covered with a French flag and 
borne by women and boys. Twenty or more women, all in 
the deepest black, completed the sorrowful parade. There 
was no man in the entire company, except the priest. 

All were on foot and all plodded their way through the 
rain and slime without apparent thought of aught but their 
duty to their dead friend and neighbor, who may or may 
not have been a soldier. But whoever and whatever he was 
there is no doubt about the status of those poor women in 
black. 

It was something of a surprise to note that the fields 
were thoroughly cultivated and that many men and women 
were at work, digging potatoes, or beets. On the roads were 
numerous two-wheeled carts, each drawn by a single horse, 
with an occasional four-wheeled vehicle for two horses. Old 
men, boys and occasionally women, were the drivers. 

In journeys covering many miles through France, curi- 
osity as to why the carts all had high wheels and the wagons 
very little wheels was never fully satisfied. 

The first stop was at St. Pol, a considerable town, policed 
by British soldiers. The initial evidence of Hun destructive- 
ness was seen here. The entire front of a church lay in 
ruins. 

No effort had been made to clear away the debris. We 
were to learn later the utter hopelessness of any effort to 
remove the wreckage made by German guns or bombers. 



50 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

Only the roads are kept clear. The St. Pol church had been 
the target of a German air raider. 

A tire was to be changed, and a member of the party- 
sought a tobacconist's to buy a cigar. Into a dark little 
place, with a "tabac" sign at its front, he made his way, 
and found two women inside. He asked in English for a 
cigar and the woman clerk shook her head sadly and reached 
down behind the counter, and produced an empty cigar box. 
It had been months since it was possible to buy a cigar in 
that town. 

This is as good a place as any to record that the scarcest 
commodity in England or in France, is an American cigar- 
ette, outside the commissary of the American Army or the 
Y. M. C. A. 

Through Bruay, a large coal mining center, from which 
France has had most of its coal, so far as French supply 
goes, since the war began, the party went. The mines 
elsewhere were mostly in German hands. The town was 
well-ordered and apparently prosperous, though quite near 
the Hindenburg line and unquestionably subject to fre- 
quent air raids. No place in France anywhere near the 
fighting has been spared the dread visitations of the night- 
bomber. 

The transition from scenes of peace to the exclusive war 
zone was sudden. The infallible evidence everywhere of 
conflict, or of preparation for it, is the barbed-wire entangle- 
ment. It covers the face of the earth all over the war area. 
It was the common device of protection and torture for 
both sides. When a soldier was not fighting or mending a 
road, or digging a trench, or constructing a dugout, he was 
stringing barbed wire where it would do the most good 
and most harm. 

On the right and left of the road from Bruay to 
Bethune were miles and miles of wire barriers, and other 
miles of trenches, with no sign of life anywhere except the 
moving lorries and the occasional companies of soldiers 
along the highways. We had run into a fleet of American 
ambulances going somewhere at top speed immediately after 
leaving Radinghem. Then we had passed a regiment plod- 
ding along in heavy marching order. They were back from 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 51 

the front, resting, it was said; but it was thought they 
needed exercise, and they were getting it. They were even 
wearing their tin hats. They grinned cheerfully at the pass- 
ing Americans. 

Bethune, a town which figured pre-eminently in the war 
news of 1914-15, was in the region of fire for long months 
and years, and there was not much of it left. Buildings 
were a wreck, walls were laid low or punctured by flying 
shells, and on all sides was waste or ruin. Yet, strange to 
say, half -destroyed homes were inhabited by tenants, who 
had either stuck it out through all the fearful agonies of 
long days and nights, or, having been driven out, had re- 
turned to try and set up again their household gods. 

The first main objective of the party was Givenchy, on 
the La Bassee Canal. Here was the heart of the fighting 
zone of that part of the Ypres sector ; here was the original 
Windy corner, a crossroads that was ever under German 
fire, and here, too, was the famous Moat farm, where the 
tide of battle raged fiercest in the great offensive of last 
April, and where by desperate work the German advance 
was held. 

Twenty-eight men occupied a cement pillbox — small 
fortification — at Moat farm. It was hit by a direct shot 
from a 12-inch shell, and twenty-four of the valiant twenty- 
eight were killed outright. But the four held on for four 
days and nights, resisting every assault, and by their gallant 
and effective resistance keeping the Germans at bay. 
Almost the same scenes were enacted at a neighboring place 
known as Pringle's Pride. Here, too, a few men refused to 
retreat or to surrender. All were finally rescued and the 
day was saved. 

Until recently the line about Givenchy and Moat Farm 
has not varied more than four miles for four years. It has 
been an area of continuous fighting. It was never a "quiet" 
sector, but every inch of it has been exposed to fire from 
one side or the other, or both. The soldier who saw 
service there will never have reason to complain that he was 
not in the thick of it all the time. It was trench life and 
trench warfare par excellence. Everywhere are thickets 
and jungles of barbed wire, and everywhere are trenches. 



52 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

Some are, or were, German, and some English. Some that 
were German became English and vice versa. No one could 
be sure of permanent tenure, unless he died on the spot; 
and many, very many, did just that. 

Over on a gentle eminence a half mile from the historic 
Moat Farm is what is left of Givenchy. It had a church — 
perhaps more than one — and houses, and other places 
where are carried on the affairs of a small community. 
Now all is gone — everything. In its place, and for miles 
and miles around, is one great desert of desolation, all the 
fruit and inheritance of war. 

There was no living soul anywhere but the civilian visi- 
tors, the numerous soldiers — they are everywhere — and a 
lone padre. He was digging away with a spade near the 
wreckage of the church. It had been his charge. It was 
said that when, several years ago, his parishioners dis- 
appeared, before the tempest of fire and death that swept 
this unhappy area, many of them had given the padre their 
little treasures, such as jewels and other ornaments, and he 
had buried them safe from German confiscation. Now he 
was back to reclaim them. But the ancient landmarks are 
all gone, and, although he has searched for days, he has 
been unable to find the things he put away too securely 
many months ago. 

Near by, too, are the remains of the once thriving town 
of La Bassee. Not a building is left, not one. It was most 
of the time in the German grip, and it was subjected to the 
fire of the British. They did a complete job. 

It is an awesome experience to climb up the steep ladder 
of the tall cement observation tower at Windy Corner and 
look over the landscape. Not a structure of any kind any- 
where. Not a wall intact. Not a telephone or telegraph 
pole. Not an inch of soil devoted to the uses of the farm. 
Here and there a tree, but most trees were down. Only a 
great circle of bleakness and devastation and horror. 

Only on the highways is to be seen any living movement, 
and they are often obscured by the side coverings of grass or 
cloth that have been painstakingly put up to curtain the 
operations of the troops or automobiles. In the ground are 
great holes, and about them are piled the dirt and debris 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 53 

of war. One dares not kick an object in the road or in the 
field for fear that it will explode. How is it all to be cleared 
up and rededicated to the ways of peace ? 

Radinghem, France, November 6, 1918. 



ELEVENTH LETTER, 



LILLE AND ITS DELIVERANCE. 

WE WERE not sure about Lille. It had been for 
four years and four days in the German posses- 
sion, and the evacuation had occurred but five 
days previously. The Hun has an unpleasant way of leaving 
behind him reminders of his occupation, and of his reluc- 
tance to get out, in the shape of buried mines with time 
fuses, or deadly gas deposits, which overcome those who 
chance to encounter them. 

General Birdwood, commander of the Fifth Army, had 
given our escort a pass for the editorial party with the 
injunction that if the guard at Lille thought it imprudent 
to enter we were to stay out. 

For twenty or more miles the party traveled through 
a completely denuded territory — ruined homes, ravaged 
fields, leveled trees, miles of ghastly trenches, endless 
stretches of barbed wire, all the debris and offal of war. 
The eye grew tired with the monotony of ruin and ceased 
to be beguiled by even the most freakish performance of 
shot or shell. 

The roads, however, were kept in fair repair — basalt 
blocks, mostly. Lorries loaded with soldiers or with stores 
were always going or coming. Usually they kept to the 
right of the road, where they belonged. 

There is a town of Loos, which is a suburb of Lille, 
somewhat remote from that other Loos which has so often 
figured in the war news. As we neared Loos, a lone woman 
was seen hunting for something in the field. She was the 
first of her sex to be discovered in many, many miles. 

Here and there was a signboard of some kind, in German, 
marking the roads, or the headquarters of a regiment, or 
pointing the way to a hospital or amusement center, or 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 55 

carrying the characteristic and strictly German "verboten." 
No one had yet had the time or the interest to remove these 
offensive relics of the German occupation. After awhile 
there was a garden, a cheery oasis in the vast stretches that 
seemed able to produce nothing but empty shells and a 
wilderness of wire, and ditches and dirt heaps and yawning 
holes. Probably it had been cultivated by some frugal 
German. Then more fields of vegetables appeared. The 
Germans were determined not to be starved. 

Along the road came a woman and a child hauling on 
a two-wheeled cart a big heap of household goods. Soon 
there were others, women, children, old men, headed for 
somewhere, with furniture and bedding and other homely 
stores. They were French refugees, and they were going 
home — if they had anything left of what had formerly 
been home — from wherever they had been during four 
weary years. 

The party entered Loos and found a French flag waving 
from the window of the first house. Loos had not been 
entirely spared from British fire, and later it was seen 
that other suburbs had suffered much ; but Lille itself was 
intact. 

Lille is surrounded by a great embankment of earth, 
mounted by heavy guns, and has the status of a fortified 
city. But it suited both the British humanity, or strategy, 
and the German policy to spare it from assault or destruc- 
tion. The Germans had possession, and expected, or 
wanted, to stay, and there remained a French population of 
many thousands which would have suffered much from 
British bombardment. 

The Douai Canal enters Loos and Lille. The freshest 
sign of the recent German presence was a bridge in the 
water, destroyed upon his retirement. But it was at once 
replaced by a temporary wooden structure, and there was 
no delay. Soon the party entered Lille. 

The buildings everywhere were surmounted by the 
French colors, with an occasional British flag. Prominent 
on a building was a great sign in English, "Welcome to our 
British deliverers." It was meant not for us, but for the 
army which but recently had driven out the invader. 



56 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

The streets were filled with women and children, who 
stood at corners, or on the walks, and invariably bowed and 
smiled, or waved their hands. Near the center of the town 
the crowds increased, mostly women, many children, few 
men. The strangers were attracting great attention. It 
was the first civilian party, not German, that had been 
seen in Lille in four years. The people, long cooped in an 
alien cage, were anxious for diversion, and to see friendly 
faces, and more than eager to tell their stories. 

The excursionists stopped at the public square, and were 
quickly surrounded by a throng of excited and voluble 
women, and a sprinkling of men. They told many tales of 
the German domination. One girl, who had made herself 
particularly obnoxious by her incurable French loyalty, said 
she had been arrested twelve times on trifling charges, and 
had once been fed for seventeen days on bread and water, 
and made to sleep on a board. 

A woman narrated at great length the town's troubles, 
and gave many instances of petty Prussian tyranny. She 
made also the statement that 5000 young girls of Lille had 
been deported to Germany — an accusation that was sup- 
ported in an address to President Wilson, made later by the 
people of Lille, asking him to take measures to ascertain 
their whereabouts and to return them. It was said, too, 
that about the same number of young Frenchmen had been 
sent to Germany. 

The population had suffered much from scarcity of food 
and high prices. Two pounds of meat, it was said, cost 50 
francs ($10) , and other things were in proportion. It must 
be said, however, that the people showed few signs of the 
long stress. They were smiling and jubilant and looked 
anything but starved. One was asked where all the French 
flags came from, how they had been successfully concealed 
from the Germans. She replied that she had kept her flag 
under her mattress ; and other women had done the same. 
The strategy of the patriotic French women was complete, 
for hardly a building was without its display of the tri-color. 

The editorial party again took up its journey, and as the 
suburbs were neared once more encountered the motley 
procession of carts, barrows, hand vehicles of all kinds and 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 57 

descriptions. There were no horses or ponies, few men, but 
women and children, women and children pulling along their 
domestic belongings to destinations known only to them. 
One carry-all, a shaky affair of two big wheels, had in its 
box two prostrate persons, evidently invalids, and it was 
drawn by a sturdy female and three children. One cart was 
stuck on a railroad crossing, and 20 people were trying to 
get it over. Occasionally, but not often, some one was lead- 
ing a cow; but cows are near-luxuries in France; and it is 
not now a country of luxury. 

These people were going back to abandoned homes, 
some of them ruined, doubtless, and others perhaps left 
intact. They had lived, very likely, outside the Lille wall 
and had not been exempt from shellfire and had gone away 
in fear, taking what they could and leaving what they must. 
Now the Hun was gone and they were safe and they were 
going bravely back to begin life again. Not many of them 
had much to begin it with, but they were far from being a 
disconsolate or discouraged lot. Had they not been rescued 
from the enemy's thrall? Was not La Belle France their 
own again? 

To the west of Lille a few miles is Armentieres, once 
a thriving town of 30,000 people. First it was bombarded 
and taken by the Germans, and then it suffered from British 
reprisals. There are left only a few ghastly walls. It is a 
great heap of shapeless brick, plaster and stone. Where 
have the people gone? What have they to come back to? 
It is a hopeless prospect for the evicted population. 

A little further on is Bailleul with 10,000 or 15,000 
population. It, too, has changed hands several times in the 
war, and has borne the usual consequences. It is razed to 
the ground. Nobody home. 

Hasebrouck, which was also in the editorial line of 
march, had been frequently fired on, and was much dam- 
aged. But the British had held on, and the people had 
largely stayed, and now they have a fair start toward 
rebuilding their city. 

Back at night to Radinghem, after a day's journey of 
about 140 miles, which had covered an important sector of 
the British war front, and had included in turn the follow- 



58 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

ing towns and cities: Fruges, St. Pol, Bruay, Bethune, 
Givenchy, La Bassee, Lille, Armentieres, Bailleul, Hase- 
brouck, Aire. It was all very hasty, but it was adequate. 
No one had left any illusions about the glories of war. 

There was a single bright light in the darkness of a 
terrible day — the hope and cheer and optimism of the 
people of Lille. It was their hour of deliverance. One 
cannot but wonder what might be the state of mind of the 
people of Portland — which is but little larger than Lille — 
if they were to be subjected to capture by an unfeeling and 
unscrupulous enemy, and to be kept in thrall by him for 
four appalling years. 

Radinghem, Prance, November 7, 1918. 



TWELFTH LETTER. 



VIMY RIDGE. 

VIMY RIDGE marked the crest of German endeavor 
in the bloody and bitter region between Lens, which 
the Germans took and held, and Arras, which the 
allies had, and held. 

It is a sloping eminence of noble contour, rising out of 
the characteristic evenness of Middle France, and it extends 
for six or eight miles along its top and is probably two or 
three miles in its widest dimension. It isn't much of a hill, 
as hills go in America, but it has distinct topographical 
proportions and is a natural defensive position. 

It is the graveyard of many valiant soldiers, on both 
sides, and it is, too, the graveyard of any hope of a German 
advance on the middle British front. The French lost it 
early in the war and laid long and determined siege to it. 
It is said that the total number of French casualties in the 
futile attack on Vimy were more then 200,000. 

The vast number of French graves in the area behind 
Vimy proves that the losses were very great. There are 
Canadian and British graves, too, farther up the rise. 

The Canadians took Vimy in the Spring of 1917. They 
took it at great cost ; but they took it. They had moved in 
about October, 1916, after their great exploit at Paaschen- 
daele. The British had failed there and so had the 
Australians, but the Canadians did not fail. 

It was their superior strategy, perhaps. They made a 
feint attack in one direction and engaged the Germans 
there, and then suddenly moved around on the Boche flank 
and beat him. 

The Canadians modestly say that they had better luck 
at Paaschendaele than the others, for the British and 
Australians are fine soldiers, none better. The Australians 



60 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

admit it, always. It is said in France that they say the 
Americans often fight as well as they do. They could give 
no higher praise. 

The Canadian corps was sent from Paaschendaele to 
Vimy, without rest, and began the long preparation for 
the surprise assault in the Spring. There was a lot of 
tunneling and mining and one morning there was a great 
explosion and then the Canadians started out in force, sup- 
ported by some Scotch and English troops, and in a few 
hours it was over. 

The American editorial party visited Vimy only a few 
days after the Boche had retired from firing range. He 
had been driven down into the valley beyond, but he did not 
quit, but continued to turn his artillery on Vimy. 

The Canadians and their allies were comfortably quar- 
tered, however, in the dugouts and entrenchments the 
German had elaborately built during the several years of 
his occupation. The German first captures his hill, or hole, 
if he can, and then proceeds in the most painstaking way 
to make it safe. His favorite abode of security is a dugout. 

Vimy is fairly plastered with dugouts, built into the 
hillside, often of permanent cement construction and always 
with a view of rendering the enemy's artillery fire 
ineffective by making it possible, and even easy, to go far 
underground. How a man can live in a dugout day in and 
day out, for months at a time, without suffocation or 
insanity, passes all comprehension. But they did it, and 
probably thought themselves well off, so long as they were 
safe. Did not men exist somehow in the Flanders line for 
months and even years ? The dugouts of Vimy were palaces 
of comfort beside the waterholes of Flanders. 

The approach to Vimy from the west is by Mount St. 
Eloi. One may know that it is a mountain because they 
call it a mountain. It is a hill — an outpost of Vimy — 
surmounted by a high tower. The tower is a landmark for 
miles around and was long a pet target of long-range Ger- 
man fire. They hit it, too, but did not destroy it. 

Then comes Vimy. The background is a complicated 
and very extensive system of entrenchments, with hundreds 
and even thousands of emplacements for big guns, and the 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 61 

customary trenches and barbed wire. If the Germans held 
the ridge for many months, the allies had the whole broad 
expanse of the approach, and they made life unbearable 
for their foe above. He paid his respects in his turn to the 
men below. 

Down in a little exposed angle of the allied position 
rested the little village of Souchet. They take the curious 
traveler to Souchet even now to show him the ruthlessness 
of modern warfare. There are many larger places than 
this small town that have been completely wiped out, but 
Souchet was among the first to go, and its fame lingers. 
Where was a thriving little city are now a few crumbling 
walls and indistinguishable heaps of refuse that once were 
buildings. The grass has had time to grow over the graves 
of former homes, and the moss has begun to appear in the 
walls. First there was ruin, and now there is decay. The 
hand of time is completing the wreck made by man. 

The party was taken to the top of the ridge and had 
luncheon there. It was an excellent meal and was eaten 
with relish. The fact is mentioned to show that the mind 
grows calloused by continuous scenes of desolation and 
death. 

We were in the midst of 10,000 graves and were the 
sole visible survivors of a deadly struggle that had been 
waged for fifty months. Yet we did not fail to respond 
to the demands of appetite. Even soldiers must eat. Why 
should we starve ourselves? 

Some one led the way to the apex of the rise, where 
there was a clear view of the valley beyond, with a white 
line marking the German trenches. The feet became con- 
stantly entangled in wires, buried in the grass. They were 
the communicating lines of the advance by the Canadians. 
Every company commander, when he can, leaves behind 
him a line to headquarters. There were hundreds of 
them. There were thousands and thousands of shells 
and cartridges with an occasional helmet. Generally the 
"tin hat" had a dent in it. Its tenant had thrown it 
away, perhaps because he could not use it; or there 
was even a better reason why he was through with it. 
A low hum came from the distant skies, and the tried 



62 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

ears of the British officers reported that there were air- 
planes somewhere around. Soon they appeared. There 
were nineteen of them, and they were headed directly for 
Vimy Ridge. It might have been the Boche, but it wasn't. 
It was a fleet of allied flyers returning from some kind of 
an exploit over the German lines. They flew in V-shaped 
units of six — making eighteen in perfect formation. High 
above them in the rear was a single plane, sentinel and 
guard of all the others. 

Where they had been or where they were going, it was 
not for the wondering spectators to know. But that it was 
a fine sight they are all prepared to bear witness. May 
they have been successful in their brave errand ! And may 
all who went have come back ! 

After Vimy, there was a visit to Lens. It had been 
seized by the German four years ago and held by him 
through every effort to oust him. He had just gone. What 
he left behind was a fine city of 50,000 people absolutely 
depopulated and laid low. It was not done by the Boche, 
however, but by the British. 

They had sought to make Lens untenable and their way 
was to subject it to an intense, continuous and overwhelming 
bombardment. 

The French population fled. It had no recourse, except 
to stay and perish. How the Germans stood it is beyond 
understanding. There was no zone of safety, actual or 
comparative, in Lens. The Germans, of course, dug in, and 
grimly held on. If Armentieres was a wreck, if Bailleul 
was a waste, Lens was nothing, and worse. In the other 
places there was occasionally a wall intact, and often the 
shell of a structure remained. 

But not Lens. If there was a single edifice in the heart 
of that once prosperous city that had so much as a stone 
or brick in place above its foundations, the eye did not dis- 
cover it. It was confusion confounded, chaos unutterable. 
There was nothing fascinating or picturesque about the 
whole abject scene — just sordid and dreadful ruin. One 
pile of bricks or stones looked just like another. All had 
met the same fate. It was scientific and systematic fright- 
fulness, and not a thing escaped, animate or inanimate, 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 63 

that could possibly be reached by the searching fragments 
of a high explosive. 

There was a regiment or two of Royal Engineers in 
Lens, clearing away the mess from the streets, or from 
some of them. It was possible to get through, but it was 
rough going. 

How and when there may be another Lens the future 
will tell. The old must be carted away, and consigned to 
the refuse pile. The new cannot be even fairly started 
until the coal mines are cleared of the water with which the 
Germans flooded them. It will take months, and perhaps 
years; and it will take money, too. 

There was a trip about the adjacent country, through a 
number of villages which had fared a little better than 
Lens. The start was then made for Arras, where there 
was to be a view of a cathedral which the Boche had 
destroyed, and a visit to a hospital or two. One member 
of the party — from Portland — was given an unexpected 
and undesired opportunity to observe the operations of more 
than one military hospital, from the inside. 

The automobile in which he was riding, in company with 
Mr. E. H. O'Hara, of Syracuse, New York (editor of The 
Herald), attempted to pass a large lorry going in the same 
direction, about two miles out of Arras. The lorry, without 
warning, turned to the left, hitting the passing car, and 
driving it headlong into a tree at the roadside. O'Hara was 
cut about the face. 

His companion, who was on the front seat, got the brunt 
of the collision. A piece of flying glass struck him in the 
forehead, and he was bruised about the body and legs. The 
driver was not badly hurt. A surgeon of the First British 
Army, who chanced to be passing, gave the injured men 
first aid and sent them on to a hospital at Arras — a 
Canadian clearing station. 

Radinghem, France, November 8, 1918. 



THIRTEENTH LETTER. 



TWO UNWILLING CASUALTIES. 

WAR is no respecter of persons, particularly of such 
harmless and well-intentioned beings as journal- 
istic non-combatants. Even the mere looker-on 
may find himself included in that countless army known as 
"casualties" without having had the slightest purpose of 
incurring any hazard that would take him so much as an 
inch out of the safety zone. 

An automobile may not be, strictly speaking, a weapon 
of war ; but when it has a mishap in the war area, and when 
it is a military car, under military escort, on a military 
highway, and when the occupants are rescued from the 
wreck, after a collision, by a military party, headed by an 
army surgeon, it would appear to be a logical result that the 
victims should soon find themselves on their way to a 
military hospital. 

Two such "casualties" from the American editorial 
party who had run counter to a lorry and then a tree, near 
Arras, France, on October 23, thus had experiences which 
they neither courted nor anticipated. 

The "casualties" were inclined to demur at the curt order 
which dismissed them summarily to hospital reception and 
treatment, for they did not regard themselves as very 
seriously hurt. One of them had a scalp wound and a few 
body bruises, and the other had only superficial cuts about 
the face. A stitch or two would doubtless fix up both of 
them. 

Why should they be subjected to the inconvenience of 
going through the formula of being taken to a field dressing 
station, and all the rigamarole of routine required of the 
ordinary soldier ? As for an ambulance, it was quite super- 
fluous. 



H ,f,,f,f*,< 




0- 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 65 

Yet to a field dressing station they went, and all the rest 
followed. They were sent in an automobile. It was getting 
dark, and it was not easy to see just what are the exact 
features of a dressing station. In this instance, it was an 
abandoned hotel at Arras, with a court, and forbidding 
walls, cold corridors, stone floors, high ceilings, and ghostly 
rooms. The attending surgeon was a business-like English- 
man, but his assistant was an American. He was a medical 
student from Vermont, and he had come over before 
America entered the war to take service with the Canadians, 
and get experience. He had had it a-plenty, and was about 
ready to go home. 

There was temporary treatment and an injection of 
anti-tetanus, and an ambulance came whirling into the outer 
court. The hospital was several miles away. It had long 
been within reach of German artillery, but now it was 
pleasing to reflect that the Boche was some kilometers 
removed. When one lies on a stretcher awaiting his turn 
to take a ride in a military ambulance, the inside of which 
he had never seen, his powers of reflection are increased 
in inverse proportion as his powers of observation are 
decreased. 

The driver inquired casually of the surgeon which was 
the "worst of the two," and the obliging surgeon just as 
casually with his foot indicated the stretcher of the worried 
wanderer from Oregon. 

"All right ; we'll put him in below," and in below he went, 
head-first. Whatever his apprehensions as to what was 
going to happen, he was quite sure that if he was the worst, 
the other casualty must be doing very well, indeed. 

A ride in an ambulance over a French road is just a 
series of bumps and rattles and turns. There is no real 
advantage to the lower position, for the man above reported 
that, while he could see nothing but darkness, he also could 
feel everything. 

After a long drive, lasting apparently for hours — the 
actual elapsed time was about a quarter of an hour — there 
was a sudden swerve, and there were lights and voices, and 
the two unwilling travelers were hauled out of their moving 
cavern, and introduced into the semi-darkness of a receiving 



66 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

ward. Someone in a white apron looked the prostrate two 
over, and someone else took their names, ages, sex, nativity, 
occupation, and other relevant details, and they were 
tagged and numbered and carried off into beds among a lot 
of wounded soldiers. 

After a few restless hours, the twain were notified that 
they were about to be conveyed to the theater. It sounded 
interesting, but seemed to warrant more specific inquiries. 
Were they to go as spectators or as principals? "You are 
to be operated on," was the terse and significant reply. 
And operated on both were at the same time. 

One had his scalp sewed up and the other his face. 

The only incident in the theater that persists in memory 
is the cries of four French children who had been somehow 
and somewhere shelled by the Germans. They were terribly 
hurt and they were also greatly terrified over what was to 
happen to them at the hands of the surgeons. 

Some hours afterwards the pair had opportunity to 
survey their surroundings. They were the only civilians 
in the ward, and probably in the hospital. The building was 
wooden, a temporary affair, but equipped with all the appli- 
ances of a modern surgery. It was one part of a structure 
that would accommodate about 2000 patients. 

There were about twenty-five beds in the ward and all 
were occupied. Many had been seriously hurt. Nearby 
was a British Colonel, who had a grave injury in his legs 
from a shell and was in great agony. Next to him was a 
poor fellow who had been gassed and he was very low. 

It is good hospital practice to classify its injured men, 
for in one ward are usually found men suffering from hurts 
to their limbs, in another to the body, in a third to the jaw, 
in a fourth from head wounds, in a fifth from gas ; and so 
on. But in this particular ward was a miscellaneous assort- 
ment. One had been shot through the lungs. Another 
had fragments of shell in his body. A third had a machine 
gun bullet through his foot. One or two had influenza. 

About midnight a new lot of patients was brought in. 
One of them had been gassed and was in the early stages of 
his agonizing experience. His efforts to breathe made it 
impossible for any one in his neighborhood to sleep or rest. 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 67 

It was said that a man of less powerful physique would 
have succumbed, but the fact that he was able to inhale 
and exhale at all gave assurance that he might pull through. 

The morning was a long time coming, in the midst of 
such incidents and others like them, but it came, and with 
it the commandant of the hospital, Colonel Campbell, a 
Canadian, to look after the welfare of his charges generally, 
and particularly to get a view of the two curiosities, civilian 
patients. The circumstances of their coming had been 
explained to him and their anxiety to rejoin their party was 
also impressed upon him; and he gave them the welcome 
news that they might return at noon to Radinghem. 

An automobile had been left for them and at 12 o'clock 
they made ready with the aid of a very obliging and com- 
petent nurse and started. The day was cold and the dis- 
tance was long — about thirty-five miles — and the roads 
were not smooth, and one of the two did not stand the 
journey as well as he expected. The other was quite strong 
and he got through very well. 

At Radinghem it was thought wise to send the two 
damaged editors on to Paris. The next day the start was 
made by automobile for Amiens, about forty miles away, 
where the fast train was to be taken to Paris. The train 
was missed and a later and slower train was taken and the 
French capital was reached late at night. 

Travel by train in France in war time is no picnic. The 
efforts of Director-General McAdoo to discourage passenger 
traffic in America pale into insignificance at the side of 
the French inconveniences. The chief device here to keep 
people off the trains is to refuse to provide the facilities. 
The trains are few and far between and they are mostly 
slow, and fail always to make their schedules and are sadly 
overcrowded. Half the passengers, more or less, are obliged 
to stand. 

At Paris there was a French doctor, who said that 
everything was progressing beautifully — "magnifique" — 
and a British doctor, who was not so certain, and finally 
two American military surgeons, who discovered signs of 
infection and directed that the patient from the Far Pacific 
be sent to a military hospital — American, formerly the 



68 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

Pasteur Institute, now American Red Cross Hospital No. 1. 
It was all very disconcerting, but he went — in an ambu- 
lance. Seeing Paris for the first time from the dark corridor 
of an ambulance, at night, through one's feet, has some 
aspects of novelty and interest; but there are pleasanter 
ways. 

There was a repetition of the Arras scenes at the receiv- 
ing ward and there an alert and very efficient-looking 
doctor, in the uniform, of an American Captain, got busy 
and took the stitches out of the wound, and dressed it care- 
fully and consigned the subject to a cot in an officers' ward. 

"It certainly looks good to see a white collar and a plain 
every-day American citizen," he said cheerfully, at parting. 
"I have been here a year and I have seen nothing but khaki. 
You'll be all right in a week." 

The civilian with the white collar stayed nearly a week, 
and he had a great time while he was there. He talked to 
many men who had been at the front, all of them wounded. 
He got an entirely new view of the meanings and realities 
of war. 

Paris, France, November 8, 1918. 



FOURTEENTH LETTER. 



FIGHTING OVER THEIR BATTLES IN BED. 

AFTER Arras, the American hospital at Paris was 
tranquillity itself. The reason was not that one was 
British and the other American, but that the first 
was a clearing station near the front line, where the 
wounded — "blesses," the French call them, with rare felic- 
ity — are received in all degrees and conditions of injury, 
and the second has only that class of disabled soldiers who 
are able to stand a considerable journey. 

The first impression the newcomer has of such an 
institution is of its orderliness and efficiency; and the 
second is of the pervading and contagious spirit of cheer- 
fulness among the men in the beds. They talk and act as 
if they were glad to be there. 

Unquestionably they are. But the reason is not that 
for the time they are free from danger. They expect to 
go back to the front, and want to go, all of them. But it 
is that they have complete confidence in surgeons and 
nurses and know that they are receiving skilled treatment, 
and believe, all of them, that they will get well, if the nature 
of their injuries will at all permit, and if it will not, that they 
will get the next best thing, whatever that is. They are not 
brought there to die, and they know it; they are there for 
restoration or cure, and they know that, also. 

The hospital is full — full to overflowing. There is no 
vacant bed in any ward. Through the corridors are placed 
cots, and they, too, are occupied. In the ample court, tents 
and other temporary structures have been put up; and 
they are being rapidly filled. 

At the time of which this letter is written, the Argonne 
drive was in full swing. The Americans came over here to 



70 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

win — or rather, let us say, help win — the war. They were 
given all the chance they could possibly have coveted in the 
Argonne. Chateau-Thierry, St. Mihiel, all the others where 
the Americans fought were boys' play at the side of the 
Argonne. It was the hardest nut to crack in the whole 
German basket. Half a million or more Americans fought 
there, and thousands of them died; and many, many 
thousands were hit. It is said that the casualties were far 
in excess of reasonable proportions, as averages are under- 
stood and have been established by the allies. In other 
words, American losses to a given number of troops in any 
given time were greater than any of the allied casualties 
were, or would have been. 

There is an opinion that it is all due to the superior dash 
and initiative of the Americans. Another opinion is that it 
is blamable to their inexperience, for they have not learned 
caution. Both theories are correct, possibly, or have ele- 
ments of truth in them. The American soldier is self- 
reliant and he goes ahead, whatever happens. If experience 
teaches that the highest duty one has in battle is to play 
safe, he will never learn it. 

The American "get there" idea is the dominant impulse 
of the American soldier and of the whole American Army. 
There is sound reason to think, also, that it is the finest 
strategy and the greatest prudence. Quick and intensive 
warfare is likely to prove the least costly in life and effort. 
Is it not true that the Americans, in their five months of 
fighting since Chateau-Thierry, accomplished a great deal? 
Is it not probably true that they would have paid more for it 
in blood, and certainly in treasure, if they had sought to 
"play safe" and had permitted the war to be prolonged for 
months and even for years ? 

There is intended to be made herein no reflection of any 
sort as to the methods or valor of any of our brave allies ; 
only an interpretation of the American way in battle is 
sought to be given, as based on genuine forethought and 
real wisdom. 

The soldier lying on his back for long hours of the day, 
and other long hours of the night, has little to do but sleep 
and talk. When the men are not busy with the one, they 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 71 

resort to the other. They discuss the great problems of the 
time very little; they exchange personal experiences con- 
stantly, and make observations on those phases of the war 
in which they come in personal contact. They agree on most 
things; they never doubt the word of a fellow soldier in 
narrating his personal exploits; they have implicit confi- 
dence in the American command ; and they agree that since 
they had come over to France to win the war, they are being 
permitted to do it. 

A Captain of Marines, suffering from a shot in the leg, 
had been in every American offensive since Chateau- 
Thierry. He was humorously called the "skipper" by his 
compatriots. He was asked to tell about Chateau-Thierry, 
and he did it in precious few words. 

"We were told," he said, "to go forward and to get there 
— somewhere — at a certain time. The Germans were com- 
ing, but we didn't know exactly where. But we had a pretty 
good idea that we were going to run into them. We began 
to meet the French coming from somewhere, and we fil- 
tered through them. 

"The French told us that we'd better go back, for the 
Boche was coming and he outnumbered us, and we couldn't 
stand up against him. But why should we go back when we 
hadn't even got there, wherever it was ? Well, we got there 
just a few minutes before the zero hour, and we stuck. We 
were too tired to run and too mad to do anything but fight. 
That's all there was to Chateau-Thierry. It was a pretty 
good scrap, but nothing like what we went against later in 
the Argonne." 

"You see, it's this way about the French," said a Lieu- 
tenant who had been gassed. "They have had four years of 
war, and I guess they are a little tired. Certainly, they are 
very wary and not inclined to take needless chances. You 
make your plans for a joint movement with the French. 

" 'Here you are,' says the French liaison officer, 'and here 
we are,' says he. 'Tomorrow morning at 7 o'clock we will 
be at such and such a place,' says he. 'You also will be 
there,' says he. 'We will,' says we; and we are there, a 
minute or perhaps a minute and a half ahead of time; but 
the French, where in hell are they? 



72 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

"Along about half past 9 they show up, proud as pea- 
cocks that they got there at all. They got there all right, 
but the fact that they were two and a half hours late didn't 
seem to worry them at all. I don't mean to say that the 
poilu isn't a good soldier, and a brave man, for he is, just 
that. But I can't get his idea of doing his part in the way he 
agrees to do it." 

"One time," growled a Captain who was from Texas and 
had graduated into the Army from the National Guard, "I 
was told to go across a railroad track and into the woods 
beyond, where there was a lot of machine gun nests, and get 
Fritz out of there. There were a couple of American com- 
panies and some French. When we got to the railroad track 
the French decided to wait for night, or something like that, 
and didn't go on. 

"The position was indeed pretty badly exposed, and we 
suffered severely. The commanding officer of the other 
company was killed and I had to take his men with me. 
There was a Boche sharpshooter somewhere up a tree, and 
he was making it pretty lively for us. I thought I located 
him, and I took a gun and went after him. The gun jammed 
just as I had spotted him, and at that exact moment he saw 
me, and he got me through the arm. Then one of our men 
got him, and Mr. Fritz came tumbling out of the tree. 

"We drove out the machine guns, capturing some of the 
Germans and killing others, but we paid for it. When the 
day was over I found I had just 17 men with me. Some of 
the others were killed, some wounded and others scattered 
through the woods. I suppose most of them were later 
picked up, but here I am. 

"I want to say," he continued, "that the notion that the 
American is the only real expert with a rifle in the world is a 
sad mistake. What do you suppose Fritz has been doing in 
the past four years ? Why, he has been developing not only 
the finest machine gunners to be found anywhere, but the 
most skillful riflemen. Their rifle has a telescopic sight and 
the weapon is perfect. Fritz is a master of camouflage, be- 
sides, and when he is well concealed with his smokeless 
powder he is mighty hard to locate ; and it is dangerous and 
often fatal to get in range. More than once I have seen an 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 73 

American soldier who exposed himself for an instant killed 
by a sharpshooter. They are as quick as lightning and as 
deadly. 

"It's a good deal the same with the machine guns. I 
don't know why it is, but the German usually shoots low and 
you first hear the machine gun bullets spatter about your 
feet and you think you are more likely to be shot in the leg 
than elsewhere. Then you try to locate the gun-nest and it's 
some job. You can't see it and in the general confusion you 
can't hear it in any way to distinguish it from the rest. By 
the time you've found it you may not be able to do anything 
about it. 

"It's wonderful the way Fritz sticks to those nests. He 
has to, for there's another somewhere behind him and he 
knows that if he quits, or runs, or tries to surrender, he'll 
get it from the rear, from one of his own dear 'Kamerads.' " 

"You didn't find the Germans throwing up their hands 
and yelling 'Kamerad' the moment the Yanks came in 
sight?" 

"Not so that you could notice it. But when Fritz knows 
he's licked, he quits; not before. It's hard, sometimes, 
when you've lost a lot of good fellows in trying to rout Fritz 
out of his hole and when you are about to succeed and kill 
off the whole bunch, to have him come out with his hands 
up and whine that he's your 'kamerad' — it's hard to let him 
get away with it. But there's nothing else to do but take 
him in and send him back." 

"Well, I got a lot of the Boches one day," said another 
officer, with a shot through the shoulder, "and I turned 'em 
over to Frenchy. When I asked them later for the prisoners, 
they blandly said they had got away. They had, forever. 
Those Frenchmen had stood them up against a wall and 
killed every man jack of them." 

"You can't blame them much, after what the French 
have stood for four years," said a Massachusetts Lieutenant. 
"We haven't lost much in the war, compared to the French 
losses. If we had our country laid waste, our homes de- 
stroyed, our property confiscated, our women violated and 
children murdered — everything done to us that savages can 
think of doing — perhaps we'd come to think that the world 



74 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

would be safer without such beasts. God help the Boche if 
the Frenchmen get on his soil. They'll get even. You will 
find that Fritz will give up when that time comes. He 
knows what will happen when the French get to the Rhine." 

"You talk of German savagery," declared another. "I 
haven't seen any of it and I've seen as much fighting as any 
of you. You hear a lot about Fritz bombing hospitals, too. 
Does any of you know of a case?" 

There was a fairly general chorus of assent with this 
view until a Captain, shot in the hip and suffering severely 
from mustard gas, spoke up for the first time. 

"I do. I saw it. I was wounded and I managed to get 
to the field dressing station. It was October 6 in the Ar- 
gonne. That was the day of the big show, as some of you 
know. A German airplane came sweeping down over the 
station where the doctors were working. In about seven 
minutes a big shell exploded right at the station, killing 
three of the doctors. That aviator had located the station 
where many American wounded were being cared for and 
had given the range to the Boche artillery. A little later, 
an ambulance, with two private soldiers from my company, 
was sent out and it was hit by a direct shot from a German 
shell and both were killed." 

There was silence and then some one broke out again 
with a tribute to the American doctor in the field. 

"You talk," he said, "about what we go against. The 
average soldier has nothing on the doctor. Those men work 
there in the midst of danger and death, day and night, so 
long as there is the slightest need for them and they never 
falter. It is nerve-shaking business." 

Everybody assented to the warm tribute to the Army 
surgeon. 

"Don't forget the Salvation Army," interjected another. 
"They're always on the spot and they give you coffee and 
doughnuts when you're mighty thankful for them and they 
don't worry you about pay and you don't have to stand in 
line during office hours to get 'em, either. They're not 
afraid of Fritz and all his guns, big or little." 

"That's right," said everybody. 

Paris, France, November 9, 1918. 



FIFTEENTH LETTER. 



HOW SOLDIERS FIGHT AND DIE. 

A MILLION American soldiers in France, more or less, 
heard not a shot fired by the Germans, and will 
come home disappointed, not, of course, that the 
war is over, but that they had no actual experience in the 
front line. 

It is natural and laudable enough; but they need have 
no regrets. No soldier who was in the Argonne or the St. 
Mihiel sector, or anywhere in close contact with the Boche 
has any illusions about the dash and glory of war, or is in 
any way displeased that he is to have no more of it. He 
wanted to fight, indeed, so long as there was fighting to do ; 
but no longer. 

It is remarkable how universal is the testimony that the 
American soldier always was equal to his tasks, and more. 
He never weakened, and he was ever ready to go. 

"I have got over any possible notion," said a Texas 
captain, in an American hospital in Paris, with a machine 
gun bullet in his elbow, "that the best fighters in all crea- 
tion come from the region of the Rio Grande. I know now 
that all Americans are alike — the men from Texas, from 
New York, from Maine, from Illinois, from Oregon, from 
anywhere in America. When the time comes to start over 
the top and you yell, 'Boys, let's go/ they go, every man of 
them. They have a pride that they are Americans, rather 
than Texans, or Missourians, or New Yorkers, and they all 
live up to the American name. 

"It doesn't make any difference, either, whether your 
soldier was a store clerk, or a farmer, or a fireman, or a 
motorman, or a teamster, or a millionaire, it's just the same. 

"I have seen men who I thought would be afraid to fire 
a pistol go out to certain death without the flicker of an 



76 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

eyelid. I don't understand it, exactly. Sometimes I think 
there's something in this talk that the Americans were or- 
dained by God to fight and die for humanity, and that the 
courage they all had was given them by a higher power. 
The idea of dying doesn't worry you much at the front. 
You learn that there are worse things, far worse. One of 
them is to be a shirker and quitter." 

"I cannot understand," said another officer, also from 
Texas, a Captain, "why everybody who has one day's ex- 
perience with real fighting lives to tell about it. I had it no 
worse than the rest of you; but I don't know how I got 
through that single sixth of October. That's when most of 
us in this ward got it." The big show in the Argonne ran 
from September 26 to sometime in November. 

The story told by the Captain ran something like this: 

"I got word from a runner about 4 in the morning to 
turn over my command to my Lieutenant and to come in to 
P. C. (post command) . I didn't know it then, but zero had 
been fixed for 5:30 A. M. and we were to go over. The 
Boche had apparently found it out, or suspected it, for be- 
fore I got far he had started a barrage, and I had to go 
through it. When I got to P. C. I was told that a mistake 
had been made and to go back and to take my men over. 

"Meanwhile the American barrage had started, and it 
was hell for sure. I had to go through that, as well as the 
German. I was knocked down three separate times by ex- 
ploding shells, stood on my head, covered with dirt and 
pretty much shaken up. But I got through. 

"At 5 : 30 we started. My First Lieutenant was instantly 
killed, being shot between the eyes. After awhile I was 
shot in the hip and laid out for about half an hour ; but in 
the excitement I found I was able to move, and I went on. 
I wanted to send a message to P. C. and I got a runner and 
lay down beside him to give it to him. A shell lit near 
us and killed him and covered me with dirt. 

"A sharpshooter somewhere in a neighboring copse was 
bothering us. I got a rifle and waited to locate him and I 
got him. Then a shell blew up behind me and hit me in 
the back with its fragments and downed me again. It was 
filled with mustard gas. My next in command insisted on 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 77 

my going back to a dressing station and I started alone. I 
ran across a big blonde Dutchman crawling along the ground 
toward a nest where there were some of our boys. He was 
dragging a 'potato masher' (hand grenade). I took my 
pistol and went up behind him. He heard me and turned 
his face toward me. I shall never forget to my dying day 
the expression on his face when he saw what he was up 
against. I shot him through the head. Then an orderly 
came along and helped me move, for I was about done up. 

"Somehow a barrage was started up by the Germans and 
it came creeping toward us. We lay down in a shell crater 
and the orderly covered me as well as he could and sat up 
to watch the progress of the barrage. The shells came 
nearer and nearer and he called out to me every time one 
hit, 'Never touched us' or 'You didn't get us that time, and 
you never will.' Well, they didn't get us. The barrage 
passed on over us and we got up and managed to reach the 
dressing station." 

It was this same Captain who told the story, narrated 
in a previous letter, of the wanton slaughter by Germans 
of three doctors at the dressing station and of the attack on 
an American ambulance, killing two soldiers. He suffered 
severely from the boils made by mustard gas. The only 
relief was in lancing them. 

"It's strange," he said, "about those big German shells. 
If there is a direct hit, you're gone, of course. But you 
have little trouble with them when they hit near you. You 
have time to throw yourself to the ground, as a rule ; or, if 
you don't, the concussion merely lifts you up and tosses 
you about a bit. The fragments seem to fly over your head. 
You are in more danger when a shell blows up some distance 
from you than near you, unless it's right under you. Then 
look out for the pieces. Besides, you learn from the sounds 
to locate a coming shell and you are generally ready." 

"I think I'd rather take my chances with a shell than a 
machine gun," said a Lieutenant of Marines, who was shot 
through the lung. "The shell either gets you altogether or 
don't get you much. I guess I'm good for a stay of many 
weeks in this hospital." Quite obviously he was. He was 
more dangerously hurt than any man in the ward, with a 



78 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

single exception, yet he was perfectly calm and quite sure 
that he would recover. He was an indefatigable smoker of 
cigarettes. Asked if he ought not to desist from the habit 
until he was cured, he said that he had asked the doctor if 
he might not smoke and was told to go ahead. Smoke he 
did, day and night. It seemed a poor way to help cure a per- 
forated lung ; but the doctor doubtless knew what was best. 

All soldiers, nearly, smoke, preferably the cigarette. It 
is the great solace of wounded men, as it is the comfort of 
the unwounded. Yet there is difficulty always about the 
supply of American cigarettes. They are to be had of the 
American commissary and the Y. M. C. A., but it is not easy 
for men unable to leave their beds or the trenches to go, or 
send, to either place. Only once in five or six days in the 
hospital did anyone, outside the hospital authorities and a 
chaplain, come in to ask the men what might be done for 
them. One day a young woman with a large can of ice 
cream and some cakes came to the door. 

"Is anyone in this ward from Cleveland ?" she asked. 

"What do you want to know for?" she was asked. 

"I am sent here by Cleveland to look after its soldiers," 
she replied, with much naivete. 

"Sure; we're all from Cleveland," was the general 
response. 

The obliging young woman smiled happily and brought 
her supplies in and passed them around. If Cleveland 
desires gratitude for its benevolence, surely it is sufficiently 
rewarded for the white lie told by those lonesome men. 

It was a great time every morning when the ward sur- 
geon came to dress the injuries. He was accompanied by 
a train of nurses and attendants, hauling a big cart with 
the dressings, basins, antiseptic preparations and all the 
paraphernalia of modern hospital service. Each nurse had 
her allotted task and no time was lost, no patient neglected. 
The men were always very quiet in the hour preceding the 
coming of the surgeon; they knew they were to get some- 
how from him, though it was not to be in words, as a rule, 
his verdict of their progress for twenty-four hours. When 
he came to the door there was perfect silence, and it was 
maintained, except for the brief inquiries or directions of 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 79 

the surgeon, during his entire stay there. Only once did he 
depart from his practice of gentle and careful attention to 
the wounds to volunteer any remark. A Lieutenant had 
been terribly wounded in the leg and badly shocked and 
was very low. Finally, under patient nursing, he began to 
improve. 

"Good," said the doctor one morning. "I want to tell 
you that you're getting along all right. But for a few 
days you sure were flirting with the angels." 

Paris, Prance, November 10, 1918. 



SIXTEENTH LETTER. 



ON THE WAY TO THE AMERICAN FRONT. 

THE editors had from General Pershing, through 
General John F. Biddle, at London, an invitation to 
visit the American front and to remain there a week. 
They were not able to accommodate their itinerary to so 
extensive a programme; but it was arranged to divide the 
party at Paris, one-half going to the French sector and the 
other half to the American, and then reversing the process. 

I was able to join the second group in the trip to 
Chaumont, the American general field headquarters, and to 
the St. Mihiel salient, scene of the first mighty exploit by 
the American Army under American direction against the 
Germans. 

The St. Mihiel sector is, or was, a great pocket created 
by the German offensive in their effort to advance through 
the Vosges and to flank Verdun. It had remained without 
material change for four long years, while the Boche ar- 
tillery bombarded and the Boche infantry attacked Verdun. 

If the Germans had been able to advance farther in the 
detour around Verdun, that formidable fortress would 
necessarily have had to surrender. But the French held 
them. Meanwhile the salient stood as a menace to Verdun 
and as a testimonial both of German aggressiveness and of 
French tenacity. 

Here, at the bottom of a pocket that is in line with any 
plan of advance into Germany by way of Metz — it must be 
through Metz if neutral territory and the difficult ground 
of Alsace are to be avoided — the Americans were 
stationed. 

They were to have there their big chance of operating 
as a distinct American unit. Obviously they were to be 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 81 

thrown against the powerful and supposedly invincible 
fortification of Metz, on their way to the Rhine and Berlin. 

The editors left Paris for Chaumont by railroad on the 
morning of October 31. They were accompanied by Lieu- 
tenant Perigord, of the French army, well known in America 
for his brilliant part in the Third Liberty Loan campaign, 
and by Major Furry Montague, of the British army. They 
were under special escort of a young American Lieutenant, 
Mr. Georgeson, who was attached to headquarters. 

The plan was to go by automobile immediately to Neuf- 
chateau for the night and in the morning to penetrate the 
heart of the salient. This arrangement was carried out. 

If the greatest aspiration of the average British motor 
car driver is to go as fast as he can, and of the French 
chauffeur to go faster, the American surely has it in his 
head that it is his duty to travel fastest. The French 
roads are always good, at least in the military sectors, and 
high speed is easy, until, of course, one runs into a lorry 
or a tree. 

One of the travelers was to be left for the night at 
Base Hospital No. 46 — the Portland unit — at Bazailles, 
on the Meuse, six miles south of Neufchateau, and about 
thirty miles from Chaumont. The distance was compassed 
in a very few minutes. It was not possible to get a clear 
view of the panorama along the way, except that there was 
the usual whirl of passing lorries, marching soldiers, uni- 
formed road-makers. 

When the soldier afoot notes that a headquarters car, 
probably carrying some high officer — perhaps General 
Pershing — is bearing down on him, he comes to a salute. 
Sometimes he is able to complete the maneuver before the 
car has gone by, but ordinarily he finds himself standing at 
attention, with his hand to his ear, and his face toward the 
backs of a lot of shoulder-strapped gentlemen who are 
already a mile, more or less, down the road. 

In passing it may be recalled here that at the British 
front, an officer who had charge of the American party 
sharply rebuked a military guard for his failure to salute 
him promptly and properly. The soldier saluted, cere- 
moniously, and then immediately demanded that the officer 



82 SOMEWHEEE NEAR THE WAR 

produce the passports of the civilians under his charge. 
The guard was wholly within his right, and the officer 
knew it, though no other sentry had made such a demand, 
but had accepted the word of the officer that the party 
was all right. Luckily every editor had his proper papers 
on his person. If not he might have been arrested and 
taken to quarters. When the sentry had carefully and quite 
slowly examined the papers of every American in turn, he 
solemnly saluted the enraged British Major and waved him 
and his party on. 

The Oregon editor had been met at Chaumont by Major 
George A. White, former Adjutant-General of the Oregon 
National Guard, by Captain Dow Walker, formerly super- 
intendent of the Multnomah Athletic Club, and by Captain 
Dana Allen. Major White, now Lieutenant-Colonel, who is 
a member of the general staff, under General Pershing, and 
whose duties take him constantly to various parts of mili- 
tary France, was to accompany the visitors from Chaumont. 
It was through him that the stay at Hospital 46, in the 
midst of the Portland coterie of surgeons and nurses, was 
arranged. 

Base Hospital 46, in charge of Lieutenant-Colonel Robert 
C. Yenney, is a unit of a great field organization that will 
accommodate 10,000 or more sick and wounded soldiers. 
The equipment is quite complete, and the service it has 
rendered in the several months since it was established has 
been very great. There is a constant inflow of injured 
soldiers and a constant outgo of convalescents. There is 
besides a ward devoted to German prisoners, about sixty in 
number. They were given precisely the same treatment as 
the Americans, and were making practically, though not 
quite, the same relative progress toward recovery. 

One of the editors, who had a sore throat and visions of 
influenza, asked if he might have treatment, and he was 
taken to the eye, nose and throat specialist. It was a de- 
partment with a fine equipment, and several attendants. 

The editor, who is from the Middle West, and who was 
generously inclined when he was told that not much was 
the matter with him, wanted to pay the doctor. Told that 
it was out of the question, he then sought to tip his attend- 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 



83 



ant, a very young and modest gentleman, who is the son of a 
well-known Portland banker. He was a little disconcerted 
when it was politely declined, and more disconcerted when 
later he was told who the attendant was. 

The Oregon visitor was the first from that state the 
various members of the hospital staff had seen since they 
had left Portland in the Spring. He got a cordial welcome, 
and later the entire body of physicians and nurses was 
assembled to meet him. Here is a list of Oregon officers at 
the hospital: 



Lt.-Col. R. C. Tenney 
Major T. M. Joyce 
Major W. S. Knox 
Major R. L. Benson 
Captain L. Selling 
Captain R. B. Dillehunt 
Captain W. H. Skene 



Captain Otis B. Wright 
Captain E. W. Morse 
Captain E. F. Ziegelman 
Lieut. H. M. Bouvy 
Lt. Thompson Coberth 
Lt. H. W. Steelhammer 
Lt. Irving M. Lupton 
Lieut. G. L. Hynson 



Lieut. H. C. Blair 
Lieut. D. L. Palmer 
Lieut. Karl P. Moran 
Lieut. A. C. McCown 
Lieut. A. S. Rosenfeld 
Cpt. J. H. Johnson, D. C. 
Cpt. H. P. Parson, D. C. 



The full complement of nurses is as follows : 



Grace Phelps 
Nellie Amundson 
Elsie Arnott 
Ruth Arnott 
Marjorie Belt 
Anna C. Berg 
G. A. Bets worth 
Marie Blodget 
Rose M. Boyle 
Marion Brehaut 
Jenne Brouillard 
Estelle F. Browne 
Susanna G. Brunner 
Helen U. Budd 
Vesta L. Bunnell 
Bessie R. Campbell 
Miriam Campbell 
Margaret L. Colahan 
Mary E. Cronen 
Anne M. Dempsey 
Julia H. Domser 
Eleanor Donaldson 
Winifred L. Douthit 
June E. Earhart 
Esther M. Eaton 
Elizabeth M. Eby 
Eleanor C. Ewing 
Ida K. Falmer 
Ethel H. Fettro 
Flora F. Fleming 
Winifred M. Franklin 
Mary E. Freeman 



E. Zetta Galbraith 
Mabelle E. Grady 
Martha B. Hannum 
Margaret T. Hay 
Evelyn Hill 
Minerva M. Hogadone 
Elsie Hollenbeck 
Claudena Holm 
Bertha Holt 
Sadie Hubbard 
Florence M. Hulbert 
Letha Humphrey 
Mary N. Jensen 
Myrtle S. Keiser 
Amelia J. Kenny 
Emma B. Kern 
Katherine Kingman 
Helen D. Krebs 
Philomena Kurath 
Kathryn A. Leverman 
Pearl V. Longwell 
Donalda McDonald 
Marjorie MacEwan 
Margaret McAllister 
Feme McClintock 
Jean T. McFadden 
Julia McFadden 
Hazel McGuire 
Harriet McKinley 
Frances McTagert 
Nellie C. Marks 
Winifred Maybery 



Rita E. Mayse 
Mary T. Morrissey 
Georgia B. Morse 
Ethel Mullin 
Agnes L. O'Brien 
Lillian M. Olson 
Olive Olson 
Lemo Oliver 
Martha Randall 
Nina Ricketts 
Frances Risch 
Nell Roberts 
Anna Ross 
Bertha Rudolph 
Anne M. Schneider 
Maude L. Scott 
Ora F. Scovell 
Ruth R. Shields 
Velma E. Schultz 
Anna L. Slagel 
Edmith M. Smith 
Bertha C. Squires 
Alice E. Stenholm 
Isy A. Steward 
Leile O. Stone 
Louise O. Summers 
Emily M. Tagg 
Emma Tweed 
Margaret A. Tynan 
Stasia P. Walsh 
Rosa C. Williams 
Eva E. Willis 



Civilians attached to Base Hospital, No. 46 : 



Jennie L. Davis 
Vida L. Fatland 



Agatha Holloway 
LaVina C. McKeown 



Gertrude Palmer 
M. Ethel Gulling 



Nor is this all from Oregon. The officers' mess is in 
charge of a steward who was long an employe of the 



84 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

Hazelwood restaurant and the Colonel's orderly was for 
seven years valet at the Arlington Club. Among the 
patients were several men from Oregon — one of them had 
his sister-in-law for a nurse — and they were most happy to 
be in such surroundings. There was time for a visit to 
some of them and in every instance they were in fine spirits, 
hopeful of an early recovery, talking of a return to the front, 
but thinking of that more wonderful, if more remote, day 
when the war will be over and they may go back to Oregon. 

Paris, France, November 14, 1918. 



SEVENTEENTH LETTER. 



HOW THE AMERICANS WON ST. MIHIEL SALIENT. 

THE amateur in war is never at a loss for thrills. On 
the sea it is the submarine which to his unenlightened 
apprehension may be seen to approach from any 
quarter of the compass; but rarely does, if there is a de- 
stroyer hanging anywhere around. On the land it is air 
raids. 

Everybody in London and Paris and every other great 
center within range of the Prussian night-flyers has his 
story to tell about the latest and most deadly assault from 
the skies. The first view from his hotel window, at London, 
enjoyed by one of the American editors, was of a neighbor- 
ing building completely wrecked. Ordinarily, he would 
have thought the builders had torn it down to put another in 
its place ; but in war time there was, of course, another rea- 
son for the destruction. Diligent inquiry, later, failed to 
elicit the exact facts. Sometimes they let you believe, 
about such things, whatever you prefer. There is a vast 
conspiracy in Europe to prevent the tenderfoot from sleep- 
ing nights. 

But there was no doubt about the reality of frequent and 
persistent air visits in the vicinity of St. Mihiel salient. 
Base Hospital 46, where the Portland unit is located 
(Bazailles-on-the-Meuse) , had become so famliar with the 
hum and buzz of the venturesome aces and deuces of Ger- 
man deviltry that they merely put out the lights and waited 
for the bombing marauders to pass on. 

To give the devil his due, he did not as a rule appear to 
be aiming at hospitals. But he had a set aversion for aero- 
dromes and railway stations and supply depots and the like. 
So long as Fritz had mastery of the air, or an equal show 
against the increasing forces of the enemy, he displayed 
great enterprise in his exploits behind the allied lines. 



86 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

Near Colombey, a town between Chaumont and the St. 
Mihiel, is a great American aviation station. It is a rendez- 
vous for many hundred machines and other hundreds of 
aviators. It had a large part in the great September ad- 
vance toward Metz by the Americans, for there in that 
affair was such an assembly of American airplanes as had 
never before been seen. They were a powerful reinforce- 
ment of the American advance, and they literally drove the 
enemy planes out of the skies. They did more. Many of 
them flew low during the fighting and harassed the German 
infantry and artillery. They proved that they were not only 
the eyes of the Army, but its ears and, in part, its arms. 

There is accommodation for about a thousand machines 
at Colombey. When the editors were there several hundred 
of all makes were on hand. A few nights before there had 
been a raid by the Germans, but as usual no harm was 
done. A German aviator somehow got lost and came to 
earth, and there, on the American field, when morning 
came, was a full-fledged German bird with the birdman 
nervously awaiting the Americans to come and take him, 
which they did. To the casual eye there is no special differ- 
ence between a German plane and any other plane; but no 
aviator ever makes a mistake about the distinction unless 
deception is practiced on him. It is his business to know; 
and he knows. 

There was a demonstration at the Colombey field of 
an anti-aircraft defense for the benefit of the visitors. It 
consists chiefly of guns pointed heavenward from the 
vicinity of a hole in the ground, just large enough to accom- 
modate one operator, or perhaps two. The truth seems to 
be, however, that such weapons have not been potent. At 
least they are regarded by the average flyer on either side 
with a feeling that approaches contempt. Not many planes 
have thus been brought to earth. The real contest comes 
when one aviator or group of aviators goes up and mixes 
it with the enemy. 

Later, when the editorial party was near the firing line, 
there was desultory firing, which the experts described as 
anti-aircraft. Over in the horizon was the shadowy outline 
of a balloon. But of airplanes there was no sign. The 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 87 

excursionists were not, however, greatly disappointed. They 
were distinctly within reach of the German guns, in an 
exposed position ; and if they could see the German airplanes, 
what could prevent the Germans from seeing them? 

If the truth must be told, it is that an aerdrome is not 
the most interesting place in the world after the first 
inspection. Here and there a plane is in the air, but there 
are few stunts. Probably the looker-on is better entertained 
at a flying field for beginners; but here the mechanics of 
aviation was the important factor in the work. Half the 
machines were partly in pieces and the other half seemed to 
be waiting helplessly for someone's attention. 

There is a little town in French Lorraine, about half way 
between St. Mihiel and Pont-a-Mousson, called Seicheprey. 
The ordinary map will not show it, but it has a special claim 
to importance. It marked the limit of the German advance 
in this sector and was the scene of severe fighting during a 
great part of four long years. 

A few months ago the Germans made an attack on the 
Americans at Seicheprey and were repulsed with heavy 
losses. It was the first objective of the Americans on that 
historic morning of September 12. They took the ruined 
village in forty-five minutes and they completed the con- 
quest of 150 square miles, with 16,000 prisoners and over 
400 guns, in about twenty-seven hours. 

The "big show" began — your soldier does not speak of 
a battle or a fight, but of a "show" — at 1 o'clock on the 
morning of September 12, with an intense and concentrated 
artillery bombardment all along the line marking the lower 
side of the wedge. The enemy had known that something 
was about to happen, but he had learned, through his 
infallible spies, that it was to occur on September 15. He 
had three days more to get ready, apparently, and he went 
about it in his usual methodical fashion, this time a trifle 
tardily. By 9 o'clock in the morning of September 12 all 
the early objectives of the Americans had been reached and 
the victorious doughboys were rapidly approaching the im- 
portant centers of Thiaucourt, Pannes, Nonsard and Heu- 
dricourt. To the northwest at 8 o'clock a second American 
attack was launched. Here a stif f er resistance was offered ; 



88 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

but Les Eparges, which the French had tried vainly to take 
the previous year, fell quickly. The Germans had an 
abundance of machine guns in the hills and woods, and they 
fought for awhile; but early in the afternoon they saw 
here that opposition was futile and gave way. 

It was the old tactics of the pincer, used with conspicu- 
ous success by General Foch, and applied at St. Mihiel by 
General Pershing. The French helped valiantly on the 
American left, and made frequent raids about St. Mihiel, 
the shoulder of the wedge ; but it was distinctly an American 
movement and an American success. 

At 4:30 in the afternoon the enemy was in full retreat 
and was making great efforts to get his artillery away by 
the Vigneulles road. Vigneulles was the point of junction, 
which was effected, according to schedule, at 8 o'clock on 
Friday morning. The greater part of two German divisions 
was captured and large quantities of stores. The complete- 
ness of the American victory is illustrated by the fact that 
an entire German regiment, with its commander, was 
taken. The German Colonel requested that he be permitted 
to call the roll, in order to ascertain his losses. One officer 
and one private were missing. Discovering that his organi- 
zation was intact, having been moved by a common impulse 
not to die for the fatherland, and to give up, the commander 
requested that he be permitted to march his regiment off 
the field. It was done, with a few grinning American 
soldiers on their flanks to see that the regiment was deliv- 
ered at the proper place. 

The area about Seicheprey has a familiar aspect of war 
as practiced in the trench and barbed-wire period. The 
Germans and the French faced one another during long and 
trying months at a distance of a few hundred yards, and 
there were many casualties. 

There is little left of Seicheprey, and other small villages 
in that immediate vicinity are a wreck; but on the whole 
the dreary vista of ruin which meets the eye everywhere 
on the British front is missing. To the left as one enters 
the salient by way of Beaumont and Seicheprey he may see 
the pleasing and harmless outlines of Mount Sec, an emi- 
nence of perhaps 200 feet that commands the surrounding 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 89 

country for many miles. Here the Germans had placed 
their artillery, and from here they had issued their messen- 
gers of death and damage for months. The French had 
tried in vain to dislodge them, but there they had stayed, 
all but safe in the cement dugouts which they had built in 
large numbers and which are a favored retreat of the Hun 
everywhere that he is likely to be in danger. When the 
Americans went in they contrived to surround Mount Sec 
with a smoke screen and then they went around it and the 
Germans, being outflanked, had to get out. 

In the heart of the wan skeleton of Seicheprey was a 
solitary survivor of the storm of shot and shell that had 
made it a picture of woe and waste. It was a two-story 
stone building that had once been the home, probably, of the 
town's leading citizen. Three of its tottering walls were 
still standing ; but the roof was all but gone, and there was 
a great opening in one side that exposed to the outer world 
the wreck of the household furniture and ornaments that 
had belonged within. The disaster could not have been 
more complete, apparently. Even the hand of Mars, which 
had wrought such havoc all about, had not taken the trouble 
to give the finishing blow. 

Here the editorial party stopped for lunch. One curious 
traveler, thinking he might find something of interest 
there, ventured within the walls; and he had the surprise 
of his life. There, in the heap of mortar and refuse, he 
found a completely equipped dugout — cement walls, electric 
lights, home-made chairs, beds and bedding, kitchen utensils 
and all. An ingenious Boche, skilled in the practice of 
camouflage, had done it all. He had lived there, doubtless 
for months, in comparative immunity. But now he was 
gone, and the tenant was an American officer. The latter, 
however, was seeking comfort rather than safety. It was 
the most perfect example of the German method of taking 
care of himself, in unpleasant surroundings, any of the 
party had seen. 

Paris, France, November 15, 1918. 



EIGHTEENTH LETTER. 



WHERE JOAN OF ARC HAD HER VISIONS. 

NEARLY 500 years ago Joan of Arc heard voices 
from the air — divine, she thought and the world 
believed — and went forth and wrought her miracle, 
saving France for the French. Now, in the region where 
she was born, and where her memory is still vivid with a 
rare and unquestioning reverence, the American doughboy, 
with a mission not less sacred, has done his full part in 
saving France for the French. 

The story has it that the voices (variously from St. 
Michael, St. Catherine and St. Margaret) told Joan that 
the "King of Heaven had summoned her to restore happi- 
ness to France and to restore King Charles," and that she 
was to "arm herself" and "put on men's clothes," and that 
she would be "chief in war." 

Somehow she managed to persuade the King (Dauphin) 
of the validity of her inspiration and she put on her armor 
and was placed in command of an army, and went to raise 
the siege of Orleans, which by her valor and her remarkable 
instinct for strategy she achieved. There are skeptics now 
who deny the fact of the voices and the reality of her high 
inspiration, but they do not deny that she gave life to the 
fainting heart of France, defeated the English invader and 
set up King Charles on his throne. The American soldier, 
too, has heard the voices of duty and humanity and justice, 
and he has gone to the rescue of an enchained people of 
the St. Mihiel region, and he has delivered them from their 
captors. 

Such reflections seize the thoughtful traveler who fol- 
lows the American Army over the scenes of its advance 
through the St. Mihiel salient. He cannot escape anywhere 
in this historic environment reminders of the mystic virgin 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 91 

who recreated France; nor can he fail to marvel at the 
rapidity and thoroughness with which the practical-minded 
American soldier shoved along the fleeing German armies. 
For four years they had stuck here ; and they were expelled 
or captured in precisely twenty-seven hours. Not only that, 
but the Americans "mopped up" after the Boche in such a 
finished way that one sees far less of the desolation and 
debris of war than on the British front. Except for the 
ugly intrusion of occasional trenches and wire entangle- 
ments and leveled homes, the St. Mihiel Valley is a placid 
vale, with green fields (not cultivated), many stretches of 
wood (the French call them forests) and rolling hills. It is 
all very peaceful and very lovely. 

Yet there are signs of the German stay. In a little 
wood somewhere about Nonsard the editorial party saw 
once more how the German took life easily, even in war. 
There was a group of some five or six small rustic dwellings, 
encompassed round with shade, tastefully and even elegantly 
built, and artistically arranged. The houses were shingled, 
and on the inside there were wallpaper and pictures and 
mirrors and basins and all the comforts of a home. There 
were walks with railings from one cottage to another, and 
there was a particularly wide and well-marked lane pointing 
the way to a large hole in the ground with cement walls and 
a handy ladder, and a top of earth, strongly barricaded, to 
which the prudent Boche might quickly retreat in case of 
an air raid or artillery fire. 

There was a separate building for dining-room and 
kitchen, and here the occupants doubtless assembled for 
three square meals a day. It was all most domestic and 
quiet. It must have given the German a pang of regret 
when he had to leave a retreat so commodious for the dis- 
comforts of trench life, or wherever he had to go. Or, 
perhaps, when the Americans came, he was glad to get 
away on any terms, so long as he had a whole skin. When 
the American excursionists arrived, it was to find a party of 
engineers refitting the place for American tenancy. 

About this time there was the sound of distant firing, 
with the occasional thunder of a great gun. But it was all 
most desultory. It seemed somewhat like practice on a 



92 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

target range, with an occasional interruption by a more 
impressive and convincing roll of the heavy artillery. The 
party was told that they were not within reach of the Boche, 
and not in sight of the advancing Americans, and nobody 
need have any worry about a chance shell coming his way — 
not at present, at least. But later we should go to the top 
of an observation hill, at Hattonchatel, overlooking the entire 
center of the salient and easily reachable from the German 
lines. It might be well to have steel helmets and the gas 
masks at hand, and perhaps a little practice in getting them 
in place quickly would be advisable. The day, however, 
was inclined to clouds and rain, and very likely we should 
escape the watchful eyes of the Boche lookout. He had a 
nasty way, however, of paying his disrespects to Hatton- 
chatel, and he might take a chance at it, even when he 
couldn't tell just what he was likely to hit. Notwithstand- 
ing such distinct discouragements, the party made its fear- 
less way to the crest of the hill. 

Here was an ancient chapel pretty thoroughly torn to 
pieces, and here was a small village which had suffered 
somewhat severely from enemy fire. But there were pro- 
tecting trees yet standing, and among them, down the slope 
a little, was a fine lookout station made of cement, and 
here it was easy to acquire a feeling of comparative security. 
Once there was a loud shriek from the surrounding atmos- 
phere, and an American officer ventured the observation 
that a 12-inch shell was headed our way, but he changed 
his mind and said it was the escaping steam of a remote 
locomotive whistle; or, if it wasn't, he didn't know what 
it was. 

There was a disagreement, too, among the experts as 
to whether it was machine guns or 75s or anti-aircraft 
weapons that were making most of the inconsiderable noise 
on the firing line. Happily everybody in the real danger 
zone was too busy with his immediate concerns to give any 
thought to the suspicious appearance of distinguished 
strangers in Hattonchatel. 

From Hattonchatel there was an easy view of many 
miles of woods and valley, with the sheen of a sparkling 
lake, all a little obscured by the mist of a light rain. Down 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 93 

to the right was a railroad track, newly built, with a puffing 
engine, carrying supplies to the front. There were a few 
moving soldiers on the roads. There were many little 
villages, points in the line that had been taken up after 
Friz had lost the St. Mihiel salient, but now again the 
Germans were being pressed back toward Metz. The 
nearest point of real contact between the forces was about 
four miles away. Smokeless powder made it difficult to 
detect the exact locality of the artillery or other weapons, 
but it was easy to trace, under the direction of men who 
knew, the line of forward movement. It did not look 
greatly like war, though it sounded something like it. But 
there was a fine panorama of hills and vales and small 
forests and scattered fields. 

The journey was, after an hour of futile attempt to get 
the war into more distinct perspective — Metz was only 
twenty miles away — resumed, with the city of St. Mihiel 
as the first objective. It had been under German rule for 
four years and had not yet forgotten the joyous fact of its 
deliverance. There was, on the way, a series of German 
plots that served as graveyards and on one commanding hill 
was the image of a great winged lion, with one paw raised 
as if to strike. It was the central figure in a group of 
German graves and it was an astonishing spectacle, after 
the thousands of modest and orderly rectangles where the 
German dead had been buried, each grave surmounted by a 
simple wooden cross, with the name and age of the occupant. 
But if the lion, in its setting of marble headstones, was a 
novelty, there was more in store to excite wonderment as 
to the German way of disposing of their dead. 

Just outside St. Mihiel on a hillside, with a beautiful 
prospect and in a lovely environment, was a great cemetery 
wherein reposed several thousand German soldiers. Every 
grave had its stone, except that in some instances there 
was an ornamental and very costly statue over a dozen or 
more members of some German regiment, with their names, 
and with a tribute to their deeds. A stately headpiece 
marked the last resting place of a Colonel, and high up on 
the hill was a mighty cross — an enlarged replica, perhaps, 
of the iron cross. 



94 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

Everything had been arranged in the most orderly and 
systematic style. No room was wasted. All the spaces 
were taken. Down in a corner were some French graves, 
surmounted by the inevitable tricolor and disclosing that 
it had been probably a French cemetery which had been 
taken over by the Germans. 

The graveyard gave a curious insight into the German 
idea. It was French soil, but it had been selected for inter- 
ment of their dead — not for the soldier of humble birth and 
station, but for Germans of consequence and wealth. Else 
how account for the vast expenditure in marble? Clearly, 
the men who caused this strange violation of a French 
sanctuary had reason to believe that the German occupation 
was permanent, and that Germany intended to add French 
Lorraine to its territories. It is to be supposed that Ger- 
many will be required to remove these lifeless tenants 
elsewhere, and it is to be supposed also that Germany will 
want to do it. 

St. Mihiel offered no special novelty and showed no 
marked signs of the Boche occupation. The next point of 
interest was Domremy, near Neufchateau, where Joan of 
Arc was born. It was reached about dark. The town is 
dedicated to commemoration of the life, service and 
tragic death of the village's great daughter. There is a 
church or two filled with relics of her time and with paint- 
ings of her deeds. There are shrines everywhere for her. 
The home is as it was 500 years ago. For that matter, so 
are many other French country homes. The peasant lives 
about as he did then. The rooms are dark and cold and 
forbidding. Two old women have charge, and they sell 
picture cards and small mementoes by candlelight. There 
was not much so see, except a heroic statue of Joan in the 
court. It was Worth seeing. 

Back, then, to Neufchateau and then to Base Hospital 46 
for the night, and to Chaumont by automobile and to Paris 
the next day and the trip to the American front was done. 

Paris, Prance, November 16, 1918. 



NINETEENTH LETTER. 



VALOR OF OREGON BOYS AND MEN IN THE WAR. 

LIEUTENANT-COLONEL GEORGE A. WHITE, for- 
mer Adjustant-General of the National Guard of 
Oregon — and still Adjutant-General, as I understand 
it — was asked in France to make a statement as to the 
service of the Oregon forces in the war. This he did. He 
was unable, under the rules of the censorship, to be more 
specific as to names, units and localities, but, nevertheless, 
he contrived to compress in a comparatively few words 
much interesting information. Here is the letter: 

"General Headquarters, American Expeditionary Forces, 
France, Nov. 3, 1918. — With reference to your inquiry as to 
the distribution, condition and conduct of the units and 
individual soldiers from Oregon who are serving with the 
American Expeditionary Forces, I am authorized to say 
that in many fields they are adding luster to the promising 
traditions of the state. 

"The dispersion of Oregon men is wide, and it may be 
said they are present with scores of units, at various head- 
quarters, in various special services and in the services of 
supply. It is an outstanding fact that their conduct is 
always creditable no matter what duty they may be engaged 
upon. 

"Every section of Oregon is represented in the American 
expeditionary forces. It has been a matter of frequent 
comment that Oregon men may be found in every part of 
France and England. A few are in Italy. They are to be 
found in every arm of the service. 

"The infantry regiment from Portland, Woodburn, 
Oregon City, Salem, McMinnville, Corvallis and Dallas, and 
to which scores of other towns contributed men, continues to 
function as infantry and, utilized for many important roles, 
has made a name for itself. 



96 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

"The hospital unit formed at La Grande, and to which 
Pendleton and Baker and neighboring towns contributed, is 
the veteran unit from Oregon in the A. E. F. As part of a 
famous division, it has been on every front of consequence. 

"The old cavalry units organized at Portland and 
Pendleton are operating as heavy artillery, and have been 
in combat for several months. The old Coast Artillery units 
from Eugene, Albany, Cottage Grove, Medford, Ashland, 
Marshfield, Roseburg, Tillamook, Astoria, Hood River and 
Portland are likewise in the heavy artillery, and have seen 
service in important sectors. 

"The two field artillery units formed at Portland have 
maintained their identity and have been operating at the 
front during the Summer and Fall with a Western artillery 
regiment. 

"The Oregon engineers have been doing important 
engineering work, both at the front and in the services of 
supply. 

"The men from various sections of Oregon who went 
to Camp Lewis and from there overseas have done their 
full share in the operations of a brilliant combat division. 
Their part has been a heavy one and in meeting it they have 
lived up to the finest American traditions. 

"The Oregon base hospital formed at Portland, and in 
which many parts of the state are represented, is located 
within sound of the artillery, and has been doing splendid 
work for several months. The other base hospital formed 
at Eugene, and concerning which you inquire, is a com- 
paratively recent arrival, which I have not seen. 

"Hundreds of Oregon men have been utilized in the 
services of supply for the conduct of training and other 
vitally important purposes. Several hundred have been 
similarly utilized in England. Their selection for this duty, 
while necessarily disappointing to the individuals concerned, 
reflects great credit upon the excellence of the organizations 
with which they arrived abroad. It is the intention that 
in due time all will have their opportunity in combat. 

"The losses, so far as Oregon is concerned, and consider- 
ing the number of men from Oregon, have been amazingly 
low. In one artillery unit, for example, which has been in 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 97 

every fight of consequence since July, the loss from all 
causes has been only a fraction of 1 per cent. 

"The cheerful and splendid spirit of these men under 
all circumstances cannot be too strongly emphasized and 
commended. All are playing men's parts in a manner 
befitting to men. 

"The number of men who have earned commissions from 
the ranks is high and the number is growing. Furthermore, 
I do not recall a single officer from Oregon discharged from 
the American Expeditionary Forces for inefficiency. 

"It is not too much to say that Oregon has been repre- 
sented on every front and in every battle of consequence 
during the present year. As you doubtless are aware, their 
valor on the field of battle has led to the mention of the 
state in the official communique during the present 
offensive. 

"I have seen the units and groups under various condi- 
tions, from front-line trenches to base ports, during the 
past ten months, and can say from personal knowledge of 
what they have done that Oregon will be thrilled with 
justifiable pride in the aggregate conduct and achievements 
of its thousands of soldiers when the details are recorded 
after the war." 

It may be as well to explain that, before the editors 
were taken to the American front, a broad hint was given 
that any requests to see individual soldiers, however near 
or dear, would not be granted. A young Lieutenant who 
was attached to the party delivered a long lecture on the 
interference with the conduct of the war made by anxious 
parents or relatives who came to France and asked to see 
their sons; and he volunteered the observation that under 
no circumstances should any father or any mother be per- 
mitted to see any son, or any wife her husband, within the 
American Expeditionary Forces. It may be well to add that 
several members of the party had different views, and in 
the discussion that followed there was rather a vigorous 
presentation of the claims of parenthood even in the time 
of war. I was fortunate enough to see my son, but it was 
not due at any appeal of my own that he was given leave to 
come and see me. As soon as I arrived in London I set what 



98 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

I thought was the necessary machinery to work to have 
him meet me in Paris. There were various letters and 
telegrams and a direct request from one or more high 
officers of the British Ministry of Information that the 
sons of the various members of the party who were serving 
in France be notified and given leave to meet them. So far 
as I know, no attention was paid by the American command 
to any of these appeals. My son, learning that I was to 
be at a certain place at a certain time, himself obtained 
leave through the favor of his Colonel and came to see me. 
I am giving this brief account of a personal experience that 
many fathers and mothers who wonder if the visitor from 
Oregon in France may not have seen their sons or other 
relatives will understand the difficulties in the way and why 
it was not done. 

By good fortune I met several soldiers from Oregon and 
the Northwest. I saw in Paris Major W. E. Finzer, who 
is now Adjutant for General Harts, commander of the 
Division of Paris, U. S. Army. He has a most responsible 
position and is acquitting himself well. I met there Major 
Fred W. Leadbetter, of the aircraft division, who was in 
France at that time on special duty. I saw Lieutenant- 
Colonel James A. Drain, former Adjutant-General of the 
state of Washington, who is in the tank service. He has 
expert knowledge as to tanks, their construction and uses, 
and it has been used to the utmost. 

Mrs. Edmond Giltner is an aide in the American Red 
Cross hospital where I was a patient for a time. She was 
good enough to come and see me. At Chaumont I met 
Lieutenant-Colonel White, Captain Dow Walker and Captain 
Dana Allen, all of Oregon. Colonel White had a plan under 
way to take me to Contres, which at that time was the 
headquarters of what was left of the old Third Oregon 
National Guard Regiment, but I was unable to go. At 
Base Hospital 46 I saw many Portland doctors and a large 
number of Oregon nurses. In London I met Lieutenant- 
Colonel Carl Abrams, who had just been put in charge of 
four American reconstruction camps in England. It is a 
most important billet and his assignment was due entirely 
to the record he had made there in similar work. 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 99 

I saw in a London hospital Lieutenant John Clark 
Burgard (son of John H. Burgard, of Portland), who had 
been wounded while doing gallant service with the Ninety- 
first Division in Belgium. He was facing with fortitude a 
contemplated stay in bed of several weeks, but there was no 
doubt of his ultimate recovery. Lieutenant Burgard sent 
home through me several mementoes, but he kept the steel 
trench mirror, given to him by his mother, and worn in his 
blouse pocket over his heart, that doubtless saved his life 
by stopping the fragment of a shell. He was hit and laid 
out by other fragments. 

In Paris I ran across Lieutenant Robert Fithian, son of 
0. H. Fithian, of Portland. He is an aviator and at the 
time was on his way to England for special service. Later 
I saw him in London with another aviator. The two young 
•men had just had an assignment to go to a camp at Sussex, 
where they had been told informally they were to join a 
bombing expedition on Berlin. I was inclined to credit this 
account of their proposed adventure to the enthusiasm of 
youth, but later I had curious confirmation of their state- 
ment. 

I had an interview with General Sykes, a distinguished 
British officer, who is at the head of the Royal Flying 
Corps. After some discussion of air service and its develop- 
ment in the War General Sykes said : 

"I am almost ready to say that I am sorry the war is at 
an end. The greatest things we had planned to do, and 
would undoubtedly have done, must now be abandoned. 
For three years we have painstakingly built up a great 
organization and have done well against the enemy in the 
air. But we were just about to consummate some things 
which, I believe, would, in themselves, have startled the 
world and would have done much to bring the war to an 
early end. Now they will never be done until we have 
another war, which God forbid." 

"I am told that you were about to bomb Berlin." 

"Where did you hear that?" 

"From two young aviators." 

"Well, I guess they knew what they were talking about. 
We were just ready to do that very thing." 



100 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

No one can, of course, regret that the war is at an end. 

There is regret, however, that General Sykes did not 
complete his plans a month or so earlier, so that Berlin 
might have had a taste of the terrors it has inflicted upon 
London and Paris and other places through visitation from 
the skies of enemy fleets. 

London, England, November 17, 1918. 



TWENTIETH LETTER. 



HAPPY DAYS WITH THE FRIENDLY AND THRIFTY FRENCH 

THE impressions of a visitor to Paris who has seen 
Paris silhouetted in fractional part through a hospital 
window, and has had the French army and the 
French people interpreted to him from the lips of wounded 
American soldiers, are necessarily casual and hasty. There 
was a later journey, to be sure, about town, to get the high- 
lights of Paris, but for the most part the stay there was 
an affair of side-lights. 

The French soldier is a puzzle to the American man of 
action. He is voluble, friendly, emotional, sentimental, 
noisy, courageous, efficient, and withal, in the American 
view, prudent to the line of dilatoriness. He has learned 
something — a good deal, indeed — in four years of warfare. 
He counts the cost, and if he is willing to pay it, he goes 
ahead ; if not, he does not go ahead. 

The American blesse, with a shot in his leg or a frag- 
ment of shell in his stomach, is likely to have vivid recollec- 
tions of how it happened and definite notions of how it 
might have been avoided. He is prone to blame somebody 
besides himself, though he may have been rash or ignorant, 
and have "got his" where a more experienced soldier, 
particularly a "poilu," would have emerged with a whole 
skin and an unimpaired disposition. 

There is testimony to the effect that the American 
casualties are just twice as high as the average in the 
allied armies. The present witness heard a British General 
say so. But, without reflection on the valor or capacity of 
any allied army, it may well be asked if any of them, with- 
out being willing to pay the price the American Army paid, 
could have got as far as General Pershing's men did, or 
accomplished as much. 



102 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

The casualties in the St. Mihiel salient were light, in a 
movement lasting but little over a day — 6000 or 7000. But 
in the Argonne drive they were tremendous. There were 
500,000 or 700,000 Americans in that magnificent march 
toward Berlin. It began on September 26, and reached a 
height of fierce and deadly intensity in the early days of 
October, diminishing gradually until the capture of Sedan 
just before the Greatest Day — November 11. It is said 
that the numbers of killed, wounded and missing in the 
Argonne will exceed 150,000, perhaps by many thousand. 
Unquestionably the largest part of American casualties in 
the war occurred in the Argonne, and most of them were 
inflicted in the first two weeks. It was largely by machine 
guns. 

The American learned in the Argonne to have a whole- 
some respect for Fritz and his machine guns, and also for 
the German sharpshooter. But Fritz did not stop him — 
never. The way the American boy went ahead in the face 
of unknown and unnamed terrors, probably to certain 
death, is both a miracle and a mystery. If you take a given 
number of men of any nationality, including your American, 
you may be sure that among them will be some who have 
a contempt for danger and others who are timid and 
perhaps afraid of it. The man with steady nerves, not to 
be shaken by ordinary risks, or even by known perils, is 
likely to hold back against the untraveled and untried. Yet 
the universal report is that when the call came to go, all 
went, and many, very many, never came back. 

The American in America, whom you see every day, 
with his books on his back, bound for school, or driving the 
plow in the field, or selling neckties in the store, or pounding 
a bar of steel in the shop, or studying or practicing law or 
medicine or theology — all alike were transformed into 
trusted and trustworthy soldiers of a cause, and they 
acquitted themselves as soldiers. What is it that gave these 
boys high resolve, a real nobility and exaltation of 
spirit, a willingness to do and to die? Let anyone 
answer. It is certain that they had it, and have 
it now. They are going home soon with their laurels and 
with a new light in their eyes, a new fire in their souls. 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 103 

They have done their duty and they know it, and America 
knows it. They are to give a new impetus to American 
life and thought, and, possibly, a new direction to American 
ways. 

The American soldier likes the French people, and they 
like him. He gets along with them quite as well as with 
the English or the Canadians or the Australians, or perhaps 
even better. The fact that the latter are members of his 
own family explains perhaps why he is willing to indulge in 
the luxury of an occasional row with them. 

You will hear at home and you will learn in France that 
the French are a thrifty lot, and they have not at all aban- 
doned their frugal ways in wartime. There are some stories 
that they are given to the vice of overcharging. Prices are 
very high in Paris, and throughout the republic. If the 
American buys, he must pay the ruling rate, and sometimes 
a little more. Much depends on how easy or liberal he is. 
Yet it is also true that the French, particularly the country 
people, are most hospitable and generous to the Americans. 
There are countless tales of their remarkable friendliness. 
They have taken the American boys into their homes and 
fed them in health and nursed them in sickness. They give 
them wine, too, and the doughboy takes it and drinks it. 

The vin ordinaire is part of the national habit ; it is mild 
and it is refreshing; moreover, it is better than the water, 
which is uniformly bad throughout France. Wine is the 
emblem of hospitality; it is never, or rarely, a way to get 
drunk. Nor do the American boys get drunk on French 
wine or spirits, not often, at least. They accommodate 
themselves to the French idea, and drink a little, and quit, 
and that is all there is to it. 

Every French home in the country has a wine closet or 
cellar. It is just as much a French institution as the 
manure pile at the front door, placed there doubtless as a 
visible sign of the exact measure of frugality and prosperity 
of the tenant within. The other signs are the chickens 
and the cow or two which are often quartered at night in the 
same domicile with the family. 

It is a mere aside, but it may as well be said here as 
anywhere that I did not see a pig in Ireland, though I looked 



104 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

diligently for one from the car window in the ride from 
Dublin to Belfast and return. There were cattle and sheep, 
a-plenty, but no pigs. 

I have reached the conclusion about the French — or an 
opinion rather — that if he sells it to you, it is contrary to 
his nature to sell it cheap, or to refrain from making a fat 
profit if he can; but he is just as likely to give it to you 
outright, if you are an American and therefore his friend 
and ally. 

You see in Paris more Americans, and particularly more 
American soldiers, than in London. There you encounter 
Canadians and Australians and other colonials by the 
thousands, not to mention the British. When the Tommy 
gets his furlough he goes home; when the colonial gets it 
he goes to London and hangs out on the Strand or other 
public places, and he is much in evidence. In Paris the 
moving crowds are colored with the uniforms of French, 
Italians, Portuguese and the others. The French soldier 
is partial to red. His idea of great personal magnificence 
is to wear red trousers and high polished boots, and he does, 
when on leave, but he learned long ago that the boche has 
a ready eye for red, and the French changed their service 
uniform to more somber colors. 

The American with his tight-fitting and quite sober suit 
of khaki is all over Paris. It is said that there is a definite 
rule in the American Army that there shall be no vacations 
in Paris. A great resort for rest has been prepared by the 
Americans at Aix-les-Bains, a watering place, and the con- 
valescent soldier is sent often to the south of France, but 
not to Paris, except to the hospitals there. It seems to be 
the notion of the American command that Paris is a little 
too gay for the young American. It doesn't look very gay. 

There is a celebrated place called Maxim's, and a party 
which went there one night for dinner — quite early — 
found that the atmosphere was not at all different from that 
of the average metropolitan restaurant. There was no 
music, no dancing, and no drunkenness. About all there 
was to do was to eat and to wait for something to happen, 
which did not. The reason, perhaps, was that the doors 
were to be closed at 9 o'clock. The law requires it. 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 105 

You have trouble, even at Maxim's, getting what a good, 
healthy American appetite requires. The French have rigid 
rules for food conservation. You have to have a 
bread card and a meat card and goodness knows 
how many other cards. Besides, there is no sugar, 
unless you bring it; and very little butter, and 
there isn't, or wasn't, a glass of good, fresh milk to be had 
in all France, unless you chance to know somebody who 
owns an accommodating and productive cow. Besides, you 
are not supposed to ask for milk at Maxim's. You can only 
admit your error and humbly surrender to the expectation 
that you ask for wine, whether you drink it or not. 

You can get game on a meat card. In Oregon there is 
an idea that there exists in that remote state a monopoly 
of pheasants — a supposed distinction so carefully treasured 
that it is possible to shoot — not to buy — such game for 
only one month in a single year. In France and in England 
pheasants and other upland birds are sold in the open 
market. I saw in one place in a provincial town of England, 
offered for sale, at least 200 pheasants. It is the same in 
France. Doubtless they have their game seasons here. If 
so, I was lucky. The pheasant at Maxim's was exceedingly 
good. 

Paris, France, November 3, 1918. 



TWENTY-FIRST LETTER. 



TROUBLES AND TRIALS OF FOREIGN SPEECH. 

YOU can get along first rate in France, anywhere, as a 
rule, if you speak no French, and if you cannot read 
it, for there are always Americans and English and 
in Paris there are numerous Frenchmen, mostly in the shops 
and hotels, who have a working knowledge of the language. 
But, on the whole, the French people are as profoundly 
ignorant of English as the English and Americans are of 
French. 

Great men like Poincare and Clemenceau make you at 
home by using your native speech; but the suspicion is 
justified that they are exceptions, even among the literati 
and statesmen of the republic. You may not expect the 
poilu to have a vocabulary outside his own expressive and 
explosive dialect; but you look for something different 
among the educated classes. You don't find it. 

You can imagine the plight of a foreigner traveling in 
America who is familiar only with his own tongue. It 
would be much the same in France, with the exceptions 
noted, if it were not for the presence now of vast numbers 
of your own kind. Unquestionably, you miss much by your 
limited lingual equipment. You are in France, but you are 
not of it. You see it, but you can't hear it, and you can 
feel it only in a limited way. 

The traveler from Oregon was left in a hotel at Amiens 
while his companions, a British Major, who was on speaking 
terms with perhaps 100 French words, and an editor who 
confined his studies of French entirely to menus and wine 
cards, went to hunt up a motor-car mechanic. The 
stranger sought to carry on a conversation with the 
French landlady, employing the few words that he thought 
remained in his mental treasury from school-book reading 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 107 

of Fenelon and Racine in the original many years ago. 
The attempt was a deplorable failure. He wanted milk 
and toast and eggs, and he asked for a place to lie down, and 
when he had elbowed his way through a half dozen puzzled 
but willing attendants to a cold waiting room and found an 
accommodating lounge, he needed a blanket and a fire. The 
grate was empty. He pointed persistently to its cold re- 
mains and loudly demanded "feu." They seemed a little of- 
fended and volubly and unitedly protested that there was 
nothing doing. 

Now there is a great difference in the French pronuncia- 
tion as well as their definition of "feu" (fire) and "fou" 
(fool) . It did not occur to the wearied stranger until some 
time afterward that he may have been misunderstood. He 
got an egg ("oeuf"), but he said "oof" and apparently they 
thought he was trying to bark, but someone of superior 
powers of divination finally figured it out. Milk ("lait") 
was easy ; but he didn't get it, for there was none. 

The hotel had been all but vacant a long time, and was 
poorly equipped with provisions. The woman in charge had 
stayed there alone during the whole period of the German 
long-range bombardment and threatened invasion; but the 
population had mostly gone. Amiens was, indeed, for a time 
in German hands in 1914. The invaders went through on 
their way to Paris and then they went back and took their 
stand a little to the east. All around it were the significant 
and inevitable signs of the war and within were many dam- 
aged buildings, including the great Amiens cathedral. 

From Doullennes to Amiens — a splendid highway from 
the north — were hundreds and thousands of German pris- 
oners, making road repairs. They were well enough dressed 
and evidently well fed. They stopped work invariably to 
watch the passerby. But the testimony was that they were 
industrious and tractable. Here and there among them was 
an officer, who stood solemnly apart and apparently aided 
in the direction of the men. The British or American or 
French guard usually sat down by the roadside with his 
bayoneted gun resting on the ground and pointing heaven- 
ward, passing the time as best he could while waiting for the 
quitting hour. There was no thought that there would be 



108 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

an outbreak of any kind; and probably there rarely was. 
Where were the prisoners to go, even if they overpowered 
the sentinel? A daylight escape in a hostile country, with 
armed troops everywhere, was out of the question. 

Many of the prisoners can speak English, it is said, and 
others of them French. But it is of no great use to them, 
except to subject them, immediately after capture, to the 
severest inquisition as to their knowledge of German equip- 
ment, units, stations and the like. Some of them talk readily 
enough. But many of them, either through amiability or 
design, tell mainly those things which they think their 
questioners will be glad to hear. 

While the ability of the German prisoner of war to tell 
what he knows or doesn't know in French to a French of- 
ficer may not be a desirable accomplishment, it is neverthe- 
less good counsel to learn a little of the language if you are 
going through the provinces. You go to France, ordinarily, 
to see France and the French, and not to meet your own 
people. In England it is, of course, easy to get along 
anywhere, for most of them speak English you can under- 
stand, though I am bound to add that both the Scotch and 
the Irish do it better. 

There was a banquet in London where everyone at table 
was asked to tell a story. Every American present complied. 
It is a curious fact that every Englishman, without excep- 
tion, protested that he could not tell a story, in the Amer- 
ican fashion, but he would narrate an anecdote or a per- 
sonal experience. One guest, a novelist of note both in 
England and America, said that he knew no humorous tales, 
and could remember no incident worth repeating and asked 
to be excused. Anthony Hope came nearer the American 
method than the others. 

"I don't know a story," he said, "but I will tell one that 
Richard Harding Davis told on me. Davis says I was in 
New York and I packed my bag and put on my hat and coat 
and started for the Grand Central Station. I got lost and 
I thought I would ask a citizen. 

"'My friend,' I said to a loiterer with his back to a 
lamp-post, 'I want to go to Boston/ 

" 'Well, who in hell's stopping you V " 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 109 

A distinguished barrister narrated at length a courtroom 
incident, introducing in turn the judge, the lawyers, the 
witnesses and the defendant. It was well done, except that 
through the peculiarities of English enunciation many of his 
words were not understood and the tale was entirely lost. It 
is our habit to criticise the English for their tendency to 
swallow syllables and entire words. But a study of the 
phenomenon of English speech leads to the conclusion that 
it is nearly all a matter of emphasis or inflection. They 
understand one another perfectly, strange as it may seem. 
They have the same difficulty with the American enuncia- 
tion as the American has with the English. Nevertheless, 
it is perfectly true that the English of the Englishman like 
Lloyd George or Earl Grey or Lord Balfour is distinct and 
understandable in every letter and word. 

The platform English is the same as the American 
English; colloquial English is not. The English humor is 
not necessarily different, for the English have produced the 
greatest humorists in the world, or some of them, and the 
finest story-tellers. The editors merely had bad luck at that 
banquet. The average Englishman is not a raconteur ; most 
Americans are, or try to be. 

Paris, France, November 4, 1918. 



TWENTY-SECOND LETTER. 



ULSTER AND HOME RULE IN IRELAND. 

AN ATTEMPT has been made by the American editors 
to study the Irish question on Irish soil. They 
have made a visit to Belfast, the stronghold of 
Ulsterism, and they have interviewed representatives of all 
classes, official and unofficial, capital and labor, employer 
and employe, and they have heard the cause of free and 
independent Ireland pleaded by the bellicose generals and 
captains of Sinn Feinism. The Ulster view will be presented 
in this letter and the Sinn Fein later. 

Broadly, Ulster represents imperial Britain; Sinn Fein 
is now the voice and arm of militant Ireland. The Ulster 
movement four years or more ago was a protest against 
home rule. It was outright secession against the proposed 
constitutional separation of Ireland. It was threatened 
war upon England, having as its provocation and basis the 
proposal that there be political secession from Great Britain. 
Altogether it was an anomaly, an anachronism. 

Just think, for example, of a sovereign state in the 
American Republic resorting to arms in defiance of a 
Federal project to exclude it from the Union. Yet Ulster 
planned to fight the British Empire to preserve its sovereign 
right to be and remain an integral part of the British 
Empire. 

Ulster is Protestant, and essentially British; while the 
rest of Ireland is Catholic and intrinsically Irish. It is not 
intended to say that the controversy is religious or sec- 
tarian; but certainly the church furnishes the background 
of the entire trouble. You will learn in Ireland, from Irish 
and Catholic witnesses, that the greatest of Irish patriots 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR HI 

have been Protestant; and that the Irish revoluion of 1798 
had its origin with Protestants. 

Unquestionably, many of the supporters of Irish nation- 
alism today are non-Catholics ; and others of the supporters 
of the Empire, foes of separation and home rule, are 
Catholic. But Ireland, outside of Ulster, is overwhelmingly 
Catholic, and Ulster is strongly Protestant; and the geo- 
graphical cleavage is very nearly identical with the sectarian 
line. 

Whether or not it is a coincidence may be matter of 
opinion. That it is a fact will be, everywhere in Great 
Britain, conceded. But that the church, as an organization, 
is responsible for the constant agitation of the Irish ques- 
tion, is not generally charged, I believe, even in Ulster. A 
reasonable explanation is that it follows, rather than leads, 
in political affairs. Its faithful adherence to such a policy 
may be one secret of its powerful hold on the majority of 
the Irish people. 

The case for Ulster is substantially that it has prospered 
under British laws and British rule, and that it has no 
confidence in an independent Ireland controlled from Dublin. 
It is opposed to home rule — unless, indeed, Ulster shall be 
excluded from its operation — and it is opposed to separa- 
tion. It wants to be let alone. 

Belfast is the most active, populous and prosperous city 
in the island. It points proudly to the fact that it has five 
of the greatest industries of their kind in the world — linen, 
tobacco, rope, shipbuilding, cotton — and that it has three 
and one-half times more shipping than the rest of Ireland. 
From the time of the act of Union (1800) until 1891 Belfast 
had multiplied its population 13i/ 2 times — a record without 
a parallel in the United Kingdom. Ulster claims that it 
produces 48 per cent of all Irish oats, 41 per cent of potatoes, 
53 per cent of fruit, and 99 per cent of flax — and pays in 
customs and revenue nearly $25,000,000, or more than twice 
the remainder of Ireland. 

The editors found Belfast a busy place, with many 
evidences of civic pride and enterprise. They were enter- 
tained at luncheon by the corporation, and the usual 
addresses of welcome, with many cordial expressions of 



112 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

friendship for America, were made by the Lord Mayor and 
others. 

They visited a great linen manufactory, now almosl 
exclusively engaged in war work, and an immense tobacca 
factory, where were made cigarettes, and Irish "roll" (chew- 
ing tobacco) , employing many men and hundreds of women, 
and the vast shipbuilding concern of Sir George Clarke. 

It is not easy for the American to note with unconcern 
the employment anywhere of young boys and girls in great 
numbers, at hard labor, and under conditions that do not 
appear to guarantee either their health or their proper 
education. In the munition factories of England there are 
many thousand women. It is unavoidable, and care seems 
to have been taken to safeguard them in every practicable 
way. But it is not at all clear that child labor is justifiable, 
in the ways it is used in Belfast. 

At the linen mill young boys were used as the operatives 
of great machines; and in the tobacco works the majority 
of the workers were boys and girls — mostly the latter. It 
is said that none under 14 are employed. There were many 
who appeared to be not much over that tender age. There 
were hundreds and even thousands who were too young to 
be kept out of school, and whose chances of an education, 
and therefore of a life worth while, were surely greatly 
hampered by the exacting grind to which they were sub- 
jected. 

Probably it will be said that they are not required to 
work every day. Indeed, this was said at Belfast. But 
many of them unquestionably do; and few of them looked 
as if they had any opportunity for play or rational recrea- 
tion of any kind, such as is the right of every child. 

Child labor has no place, apparently, in any considera- 
tion of the Irish question in Ireland. There is no thought in 
Dublin, for example, of complaint that Belfast's prosperity 
is maintained in great part by boy and girl labor; for 
Dublin itself has made no special progress in helpful and 
humane service to the younger generation. 

Dublin has its slums, and they are no credit to that city. 
A welfare worker appeared before the editors there, and 
gave a description of life among the poor in the Irish capital 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 113 

that somewhat disturbed them. He wanted their help to 
get a meager $5000 out of the imperial government to carry 
on uplift work among the numerous ignorant boys and 
young men of Dublin. 

Hundreds of them, he said, could not read even the head- 
lines of the papers they sold on the streets. 

The present status of home rule in Ireland is that the 
British Parliament, under the Premiership of Mr. Asquith, 
passed a bill giving the Irish a certain measure of autonomy, 
with home legislative bodies, having certain limited powers 
over taxation. The objections of Ulster were vehement, 
not to say violent, and it was then arranged to exclude six 
counties of that province. But it was a settlement which 
did not settle anything, and finally Lloyd George, not then 
Premier, to whom had been referred the problem for solu- 
tion, devised the brilliant project of an Irish convention, 
which was to determine for itself just what Ireland wanted. 

The inauguration of home rule was indefinitely post- 
poned, pending action by the convention, and there was an 
implied pledge that the government would accept any 
adjustment the convention was able to make. It was an 
entirely safe promise, whatever the convention did or failed 
to do. For it is entirely true that England is sick of the 
Irish question and will agree to anything that bids fair to 
get it out of the way. 

The convention, in which Ulster, with some reluctance 
agreed to participate, started out with high expectations. 
But after eight long months of deliberation and disagree- 
ments, it ended fruitlessly. Its chief political result seems 
to have been to precipitate the Nationalist (Irish) party in 
hopeless wreck. The leader was the late John Redmond, 
who was a member of the convention. 

It appears to be clear that Mr. Redmond sought earnestly 
and hopefully to find some way to reconcile all conflicting 
interests and factions. His temper was so reasonable and 
his fairness so manifest that an Ulster delegate publicly 
paid tribute to him, saying: 

"I am convinced that he had an honest and genuine 
intention of holding out the olive branch and submitting 
such moderate demands as might have justified the Ulster 



114 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

delegates consulting their constituents regarding them." 
This was a great concession for any Ulsterite to make. 

Mr. Redmond entered into an arrangement with Lord 
Middleton and his party to promote a plan of Irish auton- 
omy, with a government having control of excise and other 
sources of revenue, but not of customs. The Ulster dele- 
gates had made it plain that under no circumstances and 
for no consideration would they have anything to do with 
proposals which involved establishment of an Irish parlia- 
ment, with plenary authority over customs and excise. 
Nevertheless, the Redmond-Middleton coalition appeared to 
be in a majority, and the prospect of an agreement in their 
proposition was auspicious. But the radicals, under Bishop 
McDonnell, a very able prelate, got busy during a recess of 
the convention and converted a minority into a majority by 
their appeals to the country, and the Redmond-Middleton 
plan was defeated. 

Lord Middleton then joined Bishop McDonnell in a pro- 
posal to set up an independent parliament in Ireland, with 
the single reservation that the question of customs and 
excise should be held in abeyance till after the war. This 
was the official action of the convention by a very narrow 
majority. But, in fact, the delegates departed with 
thoughts and ideas as fixed and diverse as when they 
entered; and no one now assumes that the slightest atten- 
tion will be paid by Parliament to its action. 

At the shipbuilding plant of Workman, Clarke & Co., 
Ltd., a number of workers had been assembled to give the 
editors their views of home rule, or Irish independence. It 
was an interesting performance. Each of the men, repre- 
senting the various unionized trades in the establishment, 
gave evidence of his implacable opposition to a separate 
government for Ireland. One of them made a set address, 
distinguished by a certain rough eloquence, that made a 
distinct impression on his hearers. 

The men declared they were contented with their lot, 
and had no political grievances which could be adjusted 
by Dublin. The believed that Irish government meant the 
death of industry in Belfast, for it would precipitate an era 
of onerous taxation and special discrimination against 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 115 

Ulster. Capital would have no recourse but to seek new 
fields, and what could labor do but move also ? Their true 
allegiance was to Great Britain. 

The trades unions to which they belonged were British, 
and they had benefited much by their policies. If they 
were to be cut off from them, they were sure they would 
have far less protection as union men, and therefore in 
their own interest they desired to maintain the British 
connection. They proclaimed their complete sympathy 
with Great Britain in the war, and unhesitatingly said that 
Ireland elsewhere was not so loyal. 

It is given out in Belfast as fact that Ulster has con- 
tributed to the British army, during the war, 59,000 recruits, 
while the combined total of the three other provinces is 
51,700. The city of Belfast, with a population of 403,000, 
has furnished more soldiers than Connaught, Munster and 
Leinster (excluding Dublin) , with 2,066,000 population. 

The percentages of males of military age who have 
enlisted are: Ulster, 33.8; Leinster, 17.7; Munster, 11.7; 
Connaught, 4.9. In a recent war loan Belfast contributed 
£25,000,000, or about 25 per cent of the total for Ireland. 

It is said that when conscription was abandoned in con- 
sequence of the great furore in Ireland, a promise was made 
that Ireland would furnish at least 50,000 volunteers. But 
10,000 was the maximum to be attained. 

The other day in Parliament T. P. O'Connor, the veteran 
home ruler, introduced a resolution that "it is essential that 
before the British government take any part in any pro- 
ceeding for the re-settlement of Europe on the conclusion of 
peace, the Irish question should be settled in accordance 
with the principles laid down by President Wilson." 

A spirited debate ensued, in which all the old ground 
of England's bad faith with Ireland was surveyed and the 
demand was made that autonomy be granted. Mr. Asquith, 
the ex-Premier, supported the proposal, which was strongly 
opposed by Bonar Law, for the government. Bonar Law 
openly declared that it was nothing but a bold scheme to 
exclude Great Britain from the peace conference. Inci- 
dentally, he charged John Dillon, the Irish leader, with 
having boasted that he had taken no part in any recruiting 



116 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

campaign — an accusation which Mr. Dillon heatedly denied, 
but Bonar Law refused to recede. 

Altogether the debate gave an interesting sidelight on 
the whole Irish question. On the one hand the government 
is obviously hopeless about any satisfactory result and does 
not intend to try to effect it now. Only a day or two since 
Lloyd George in a public letter supporting further coalition 
between the liberals and conservatives in the coming elec- 
tion definitely said: 

"I can support no settlement of the Irish question which 
would involve the forcible coercion of Ulster." So Ulster 
has won. 

On the other hand, the Irish Nationalists, who have been 
all but leaderless since the death of John Redmond (who is 
said to have literally broken his heart over his failure in the 
Irish convention) are discredited at home and most of them 
have no hope of a re-election. They are fighting for a lost 
cause and they know it. The Sinn Feiners have the upper 
hand and the Nationalists will soon no doubt cease to func- 
tion as a party. 

At Sea, November 20, 1918. 



TWENTY-THIRD LETTER. 



IRELAND AND SINN FEIN. 

THE Sinn Feiners are the dominant political force in 
Ireland today. It is the newest phase of the ever- 
changing cycle of public events here. It is a young 
man's movement, with the fire and indiscretion of youth. 
It has set aside the old leaders, absorbed their following and 
embarked boldly upon a course which is designed to lead to 
absolute separation from the British Empire. 

Independence and a distinct national existence is the 
Sinn Fein goal. There is no disguise about it; nor is there 
concealment of their scheme of outright rebellion, which is 
to be the final alternative, if other plans fail. They say that 
any possible hope of constitutional reform may as well be 
abandoned, in view of the failure of all parliamentary 
measures, and they openly flout home rule or colonial gov- 
ernment, or any other proposal which would hold Ireland as 
an integral unit of the British Empire. They are not 
British, nor Scottish, they say. They are Irish. 

Ireland was a distinct race, with the full attribute of 
nationhood, before England was; and of right they should 
and must be free. Their chief present reliance for inde- 
pendence, or separation, as it is most commonly called here, 
is the forthcoming peace conference, which is committed 
in advance, through acceptance by all nations of the four- 
teen declarations, to the principle that small peoples have 
the right of self-determination. 

It is the Wilson idea. That is where the Sinn Feiners 
got it. If the peace conference rejects their pleas — well, 
they will carry on the war in ways they are not ready to 
define or divulge. And they will make, as their fathers 
made before them, so they say, all necessary sacrifices in 



118 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

life and blood until the great end shall be achieved. What 
matter a few thousand lives of patriotic and zealous Irish- 
men now or later? 

The visiting American editors saw the Sinn Feiners in 
Dublin. They had announced in passing through the Irish 
capital on their way to Belfast that they would return and 
they would be pleased to hear what the Sinn Feiners and 
any others might have to say on the Irish question. The 
leaders of the Sinn Fein were not slow to take advantage 
of the opportunity. They saw, doubtless, a way to spread 
their propaganda in America, and to correct what they 
thought were certain misapprehensions as to their motives, 
methods and ultimate aims. 

A half dozen or more of them came at the appointed 
time, in a waiting-room at a large Dublin hotel. Not any 
of them was probably more than 35 years of age. They 
were collectively an alert-looking, keen-minded and neatly- 
dressed lot of Irishmen, and individually they were educated, 
fluent, aggressive and candid. They did not appear to be the 
stuff of which martyrs are made, though they may be ; and 
they were likewise far removed from the type of low- 
browed, rough-necked and quarrelsome hooligan that repre- 
sents the doctrine of force and terrorism which has its 
exponents in Ireland. They were altogether a presentable 
group of men who knew exactly what they wanted, and 
were not afraid to say so, though, as it developed, they 
were not wholly clear as to how they were going to get it. 

The interview began with a statement by one of them, an 
officer of the Sinn Fein, as to the historic grievances and 
present wrongs of Ireland. For 700 years Ireland had suf- 
fered the abuses and oppressions of England and it still 
retained its unconquerable soul and it never would consent to 
be ruled by the tyrant. There was a great deal more like it. 

"Let us all agree," said one of the editors, "that every- 
thing you say is true about the past and that Ireland has 
suffered much from English misgovernment. What about 
the situation today?" 

"There is no intrinsic change now in England's position 
toward Ireland," was the answer. "We are unjustly taxed. 
We are denied our rights. We have no such thing as free 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 119 

speech or individual liberty. We are thrown into prison by 
the hundreds for such trifling 1 misdemeanors as the singing 
of a song which England does not like. The Irish coast is a 
fortress and the island is a mere garrison for 200,000 British 
soldiers. We are denied education for our children. We are, 
or we have been, the victims of procured famines. We are 
impoverished and miserable. We have declined in popula- 
tion ; for example, from more than 8,000,000 people to a little 
more than 4,000,000. Our industries languish through dis- 
criminations of many kinds. We do not get justice in the 
courts. Not long since there was a brutal murder in one 
of our towns. The keeper of a public house had kicked to 
death an inoffensive woman, with no provocation. He was 
tried and found guilty and the judge, appointed by the 
Crown, sentenced him to imprisonment for twelve months, 
saying that he was a loyal citizen, for he had served the 
Empire well by zealous service in procuring recruits for the 
army." 

"What is the reason Ireland has given so few soldiers 
to the British army?" 

"Because we are not British. We are not free men. We 
are slaves or but little better. Why should we fight to make 
Great Britain strong ? Britain went to war to save its skin ; 
why should we help ? Let us have our freedom and we can 
then decide on which side in the war to fight. But how can 
slaves make a choice?" 

"Are you pro-German?" 

"We are not. We are pro-Irish." 

"Have you not accepted aid from Germany ?" 

"Yes. But we have taken it as we have had help from 
America or France, or any outsider. But we have incurred 
no obligations to Germany that we have not incurred to 
others who are sympathetic and disposed to lend us a hand." 

"Is it not true that there was a plan to land arms at an 
Irish port through Sir Roger Casement ? Was he not in the 
German pay?" 

"Sir Roger was not in the German employ. He was an 
Irish patriot. He sought assistance against England, our 
enemy, and for Ireland, and he got it. But unfortunately 
his plans miscarried and he was arrested and imprisoned, 



120 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

and later executed. This was in 1916, long before America 
entered the war. We have had no truck or bargain with 
Germany since. Though Sir Roger was in British custody, 
we went ahead with our plans for an uprising. We fought 
England and all its power and there were many casualties 
and much loss of life. We have been accused of cowardice. 
Does that look like cowardice? The rebellion failed 
and our leaders voluntarily surrendered. Great Britain 
promptly shot to death eleven of them. One of our party 
here was among those sentenced to death, but later he was 
freed. Yet he is under constant surveillance and is liable to 
arrest and imprisonment or worse at any time. From 400 
to 600 Irishmen are now in jail, all of them for political 
offenses. Yet we will not quit." 

"Are you aware of the fact that American sympathy for 
the cause of Irish freedom has declined as a result of Sinn 
Feinism and the failure of Ireland to play the part in the 
war America thinks Ireland should play?" 

"If that is so it is due to the lying propaganda of England 
against Ireland. Lord Northcliffe is behind it all. He has 
spent more British money in an effort to poison the Ameri- 
can mind against Ireland than he has spent in his anti- 
German propaganda in Germany. An American transport 
was sunk on the Irish coast and a lot of American soldiers 
were landed on Irish soil; some of them in a dying con- 
dition. It was widely printed throughout America that 
Ireland had treated them inhospitably, refusing to care for 
them. Lord Northcliffe did that." 

It was suggested that they probably referred to the 
loss of the Tuscania and the landing of many American 
troops on the north coast of Ireland. The editors all assured 
the Sinn Feiners that they had seen in no American news- 
paper any description of the event imputing to Ireland a 
lack of hospitality or humanity. 

"We think America owes us gratitude and support," they 
continued. "We are rebels against England — so were you. 
You were successful, but why? Because you had so many 
Irishmen as soldiers in your revolution. At least half of 
them were of Irish blood. George Washington said that 
without them the war for American independence would 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 121 

have failed. Now, you tell us that we have lost America's 
sympathy. There are 20,000,000 Irishmen in America, and 
you will have them to reckon with in case you go back on 
Ireland. It is inconceivable to us that you can do so. We 
rely absolutely on President Wilson and America. 

"President Wilson is definitely on record for the self- 
determination of small peoples. We are a small people in 
precisely the sense that the Jugo-Slavs and the Czecho-Slavs 
are small peoples. Our distinct racial identity is further 
emphasized by the fact that Ireland is an island. Geo- 
graphically, ethnologically, historically, the Irish are a race, 
a people, a nation." 

"What do you expect President Wilson to do for you ?" 

"We shall appear before the peace conference which 
stands for the fourteen Wilson articles of peace, including 
the right of self-definition and self-government, and ask 
for recognition. How can it be denied? We have come to 
regard President Wilson as the savior of mankind. How 
can he refuse to stand by us, unless he is the world's greatest 
hypocrite ?" 

"Yet the peace conference may refer your case back to 
the British Empire. What will be your next step ?" 

"We shall carry on the fight. Thousands of Irishmen 
will die, but they are ready; then other thousands. But it 
will be the same till we get our rights." 

"But surely you have a concrete plan of action ?" 

"Yes, we shall set up a government of our own at Dublin. 
In the coming parliamentary election we shall elect at least 
seventy-five out of 102 members of parliament. They will 
not take their place at Westminster. Vacant seats there 
will be the silent witnesses of our purpose to have no more 
to do with the British Empire. These seventy-five members 
will be the nucleus of a new Irish parliament. Sixty of our 
candidates are now in jail. But it makes no difference. 
We shall find ways to get them out."* 

"Will you not be satisfied if Great Britain gives you 
home rule?" 

*Note. — The actual results of the parliamentary election (December 14, 1918) 
showed that the Sinn Fein prediction was accurate. The Nationalist (Irish) 
party was overwhelmed, and the Sinn Fein elected 73 out of 102 members of 
Parliament for Ireland. The Sinn Fein members are carrying out their plan 
of setting up a parliament at Dublin and have declared for Irish independence. 



122 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

"No. First, she will not give it. Second, we don't want 
it, and we demand, and will have, our freedom." 

"How is it that Irish sentiment has for so many years 
favored home rule, and not separation ? Why the change ?■" 

"There is no change. With Ireland, home rule was 
merely a means to an end; a step toward the real goal — 
independence. We have never wanted anything else. We 
would never have been content with anything else. Parnell 
and all the real Irish leaders actually aimed at separation 
and a distinct nationhood. We repudiate any other policy. 
We repudiate the so-called nationalist leaders who would 
give us half a loaf. They are done, for we are done with 
them." 

"What are you going to do about Ulster?" 

"We believe in majority rule. It is the republican way. 
Ireland must determine for herself what kind of government 
she will have. We will take our chances in that kind of a 
decision. Let Ulster do the same." 

"Are you not aware that most Ulster men have signed a 
covenant that they will never consent to be governed from 
Dublin?" 

"Yes. But that is mainly bluff. What are they to do but 
accept the government Ireland chooses to give them ? They 
will have no alternative." 

"Do you regard Ireland as capable of self-government?" 

"Most certainly. The days of Irish freedom from Eng- 
land were Ireland's most prosperous era. We have the re- 
sources, we have the men, we will get the money. We want 
Ireland's taxes spent in Ireland. We want fiscal freedom. 
We are paying Great Britain in taxes more than £30,000,000 
per year. We can administer an Irish government with 
£11,000,000. We would impose our own tariffs, create our 
own industries, find our own markets. It is true that Eng- 
land is now our best market. But if England lays a dis- 
criminative tariff against us, we shall build a tariff wall 
against England. Why can't we sell our products to Amer- 
ica and all the world ?" 

"You have only a few million people. How can you 
expect to maintain yourselves when you are out from under 
the protection of the British navy?" 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 123 

"Great Britain is the last remaining autocracy. It must 
go. British navalism is a menace to the peace of the world. 
America talks much of the freedom of the seas. Some day 
you will be called on to bring the British navy to account. 
We may safely leave all that to you. Ireland will be a small 
nation, but it is the day when small nations are coming into 
their own. Look at Denmark, Holland, Norway, Sweden, 
Switzerland. Geographically Ireland is twice as large as the 
next largest small nation. It should have, and will have, 
commensurate population and wealth." 

"Have you thought about Belgium?" 

"Yes. But Belgium was in Germany's road. If Belgium 
had given German troops right of way, there would have 
been no trouble." 

"Is the Sinn Fein a Catholic organization? Is the 
Catholic Church in any way responsible for the present state 
of affairs in Ireland?" 

"No. Ireland is three-fourths Catholic, and naturally the 
Sinn Feiners are mostly Catholic, as all other revolutionary 
movements have been. But it should be remembered that 
Wolf Tone, the great leader, was a Protestant, and so were 
most of his associates. Robert Emmet was a Protestant. 
The division in Ireland today is rather geographical than 
denominational. Many Protestants outside of Ulster are 
with us. Most Protestants in Ulster are against us, and 
doubtless many Catholics. The church follows, rather than 
leads, the political sentiment that prevails within its en- 
vironment." 

And so the debate ran on for hours. The Sinn Feiners 
were earnest, enthusiastic and, it may be supposed, sincere. 
It is not the design here to say that they were visionary, 
misguided or mistaken; only to reveal what is in their 
minds. The climax of the day was reached when the 
question was asked: 

"Is a compromise with England not possible?" 

"No. England has given us the worst government in the 
world. But if England gave us the best government in the 
world, we should still fight for our freedom and inde- 
pendence." 

At Sea, November 21, 1918. 



TWENTY-FOURTH LETTER. 



LIQUOR CONTROL AND LIQUOR DRINKING IN ENGLAND. 

EVERYBODY drinks in Great Britain — drinks liquor 
— or nearly everybody. There is no potent voice 
raised for prohibition as in America, but the evils 
of drink and drunkenness are freely admitted. There are 
temperance societies and a temperance movement, but tem- 
perance means moderation, not abstention. 

The war has made necessary certain reforms and they 
have been drastic and effective in a great measure. Prob- 
ably there will be no return to the old free and easy 
conditions of 1914 and before, but it is perfectly certain 
that the workman is not to be deprived of his beer, or of 
his spirits, if he wants them, nor the middle and upper 
classes of their wines. 

The average production of liquor of all kinds in Great 
Britain is 50 per cent less than in peace times. There are 
two reasons — food conservation and legal restriction of 
consumption, the latter made necessary by excessive drink- 
ing among munitions and other war workers, with bad 
consequences upon war work. But the authorities did not 
set about to stop drinking, only drunkenness. It is said 
that Lloyd George at one time seriously considered pro- 
hibition for war time and even threatened it, but he was 
dissuaded by various considerations, among them being the 
enormous financial investment in the liquor trade. The 
Scotch bankers, for example, are large lenders to the makers 
of whisky. If their security was to be rendered valueless, 
their ability to aid in financing the war would be greatly 
impaired. 

When the war began the public houses were permitted 
to remain open from seventeen to eighteen hours per day 
throughout the kingdom. Now they are cut down to five 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 125 

and a half hours everywhere — two and a half hours in mid- 
day and three hours at night. Spirits purchased for con- 
sumption off the premises must be bought in the daylight 
period, excluding Saturdays. 

The practice of treating is prohibited. Anti-treating 
laws in America are more or less of a joke and are never 
quite effective, but in Great Britain law observance is a 
national habit. If there is an anti-treating ordinance there 
is very little thought of disobeying it. 

The sale of drink on credit is prohibited. 

The practice of giving the "long pull" is forbidden. The 
"long pull" means a bigger drink for the same money, or less 
money, than one's competitor gives. It was a very common 
practice. Now uniformity of measure is required. The 
patron of a "pub" cannot get drunk with greater facility or 
dispatch in one place than in another. 

Compulsory dilution of spirits is provided for. Now the 
drinker has set before him the same quantity, but it has 
less alcoholic content. He must drink more to get results; 
but he is not encouraged to do it. Indeed, he is distinctly 
discouraged. 

The results of all these restrictive and preventive meas- 
ures have been remarkable. It is said that in the year 1913 
there were on an average 3482 weekly convictions for 
drunkenness. For the first six months in 1918 this total 
had been reduced to 615. 

In 1913 there were 511 cases of delirium tremens; in 
1917 there were but ninety-nine. 

In 1913 there were 2426 cases of attempted suicide, due 
to alcoholism ; in 1917 there were 935. 

In 1913 there were 1831 deaths from alcoholism ; in 1917 
there were 580. 

In 1913 there were 1226 cases of suffocation of infants ; 
in 1917 there were 704. 

The Central Liquor Control Board, in making its report 
to Parliament for 1918, quotes the following statement by 
the London Commissioner of Police: 

"During the past year (1917) as the police have not 
slackened in vigilance, and as, moreover, inquiries inde- 
pendently made demonstrate that the decrease in drunk- 



126 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

enness is actual, and not merely statistical, some explana- 
tion for it seems required. The experienced superintendents 
who are in charge of the 21 divisions making up the police 
district attribute the decrease of 75 per cent in the statis- 
tics of drunkenness in their areas to the operation of a 
variety of causes, viz: the working of the Liquor Central 
Control Board's orders with respect to restricted hours of 
sale, treating, and their restrictions on the sale of spirits, 
the diminution in alcoholic strength of those beverages, 
and also their greater cost to the consumer." 

The high cost of liquor, particularly ardent spirits, 
everywhere in Europe, has doubtless been one great cause 
of its smaller use. Whisky has gone up three or four times 
in price and wines hardly less, in England and on the con- 
tinent. A returning soldier says that he bought a bottle 
of Scotch whisky in Italy — for a friend — and it cost him 
$12. The friend evidently was in great distress. 

The average cost per quart of the same delectable bev- 
erage in England and Scotland is said to be from $5 to $8. 
Thus the higher cost of intoxication is undoubtedly no small 
factor in the growth of temperance here. 

The government, though it made rules as to the manu- 
facture and sale of liquor for universal application, carried 
its experiments to greater lengths in certain areas, such as 
Carlisle and Gretna Green, where there are great munitions 
plants. Carlisle is a considerable city in the north of Eng- 
land, and the adjacent war- work factory at Gretna is across 
the boundary line in Scotland. This is the same Gretna of 
romance that made marriage easy, and at the same time 
perfectly legal, for runaway couples that did not want to be 
delayed by the dilatory methods of the English law. 

The existence of one kind of liquor law in Scotland and 
another in England probably led to the decision to take over 
entirely the whole liquor supply problem in the Carlisle- 
Gretna area. It was easy enough to make new rules for 
Gretna, where the whole establishment was, from the be- 
ginning, in the government's hands, but not so easy at 
Carlisle, where there were numerous public houses, all eager 
to sell to the many thousand workers who had come to work 
in munitions. The situation shortly became a scandal, and 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 127 

got wholly beyond public management. It was decided to 
assume direct control of all liquor establishments in Car- 
lisle — wholesale, retail, manufacturing, distribution — 
everything. In other words, the government determined to 
go into the liquor business at this one place. There were 
119 licenses for public houses, and they were taken over 
by negotiation and purchase, and were reduced to sixty- 
nine. It will be noted that the vested interest of the licensee 
in his property was respected, and he was not shut up 
outright. In many instances the "pub" proprietor was made 
the agent of the government, and put in charge of his old 
place. 

There were four breweries. All were purchased, and 
two were closed up and the premises let for other purposes. 
One is used as a center for bottling beer, taking over the work 
of twelve small plants ; and the fourth is continued in opera- 
tion, making all the beer required by the city. Similarly 
the business of wine and spirit merchants (jobbers) was 
taken over, and there was created one large establishment, 
with an up-to-date building, equipped with the latest plant 
for reducing, blending and bottling spirits. The work done 
here represents the operations of thirteen small places in 
private hands. 

The "pubs" at Carlisle already were under the new 
general restrictions of the government. Sunday closing had 
been put into effect. Now it was decided to prohibit the 
sale of spirits for "on" consumption ("off" sales being 
already forbidden) on Saturdays. This means that only 
beer and malt liquors could be bought on that day, for con- 
sumption on or off the premises. Special provisions were made 
in regard to the sale of intoxicants to persons under 18, so 
that no spirits can be supplied in such cases and only beer 
if sold with a meal. Note that boys and girls under 18 are 
permitted, even in renovated and purified Carlisle, to fre- 
quent government-owned and operated "pubs," to eat there, 
and to drink, too. Grocers' licenses — the holding of a 
license to sell intoxicants in premises mainly or partly 
maintained as a grocer's shop — were withdrawn. 

Advertisements regarding the sale of alcohol were sup- 
pressed. Special provision was made for the sale of food 



128 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

and non-alcoholic drinks in licensed premises, and a bonus 
given on such sales. 

A most interesting and radical feature of the board's 
policy was the establishment and maintenance of food tav- 
erns. Seven such places are provided. It was felt that in 
different parts of the city such facilities should exist as 
would enable the public to obtain a properly cooked meal at 
a reasonable price. The taverns are largely patronized, 
some of them by both sexes, and they are clean, neat, well 
arranged and well conducted. They provide a resort for the 
working man, and they have doubtless had a great influence 
in inducing him to do less drinking, by the simple and easy 
experiment of encouraging him to do more eating. It is a 
curious experience to go into such a place and find it con- 
ducted entirely by a woman, who had formerly held the 
license, and to see the barmaids serving customers at the 
bar. The use of barmaids in the rougher part of the city, 
however, has been dispensed with. 

All these are very great reforms, when we consider how 
slow the Englishman is to change his ways, and how rooted 
is his conviction that his method of living and doing is his 
own business. The idea of personal and individual liberty 
is the growth and development of a thousand years of 
English freedom. Even now, for example, or lately and 
all through the war, the socialists and anarchists were per- 
mitted to have their say in Hyde Park. If a man opposes 
the war, he is at liberty to say so. If a citizen chooses to 
drink himself to death, it is hard for the Englishman to 
regard it as anyone's business but the drunkard's, and a 
drunkard, if an Englishman, has certain inalienable rights 
which other Englishmen should not disturb. And it is 
dawning on the English consciousness — the war did it — 
that drinking and intoxication vitally concern the public, 
for they are matters of public and not exclusively of in- 
dividual morals, and they have to do with the welfare of 
society. It is a far cry yet to prohibition, but in view of the 
many changes of the last four years, who can tell what will 
happen in Great Britain in the next generation ? 

At Sea, November 18, 1918. 



TWENTY-FIFTH LETTER. 

ARMISTICE DAY IN LONDON. 

THE editors got back from their Irish trip in time to 
see how London received the news of the armistice. 
They had had a rough encounter with the Irish sea 
— two encounters, indeed, one going and one coming back. 
It lived up to its tradition as an unruly, restless and 
troublesome teapot ocean. 

Three times, in all, the editors have compassed its 
waters, and in each instance they found the Irish sea in an 
ugly mood. The packet on which they went from Holyhead 
to Dublin had its nose under the billows half the time, and 
the same little vessel on its return performed amazing 
stunts in riding alternately on one ear and then on the other, 
rolling and wallowing in the angry waves in ways quite dis- 
concerting. It was a positive relief to put one's feet again on 
dry land, in the comparative security, if not quiet, of a Lon- 
don crowd celebrating victory after four long years, and 
more, of war.* 

The news of the signing of the armistice was given out 
by Premier Lloyd George to the papers a little before 11 
o'clock on Monday, November 11. Up to that time London 
had preserved its usual phlegmatic calm. The successive an- 
nouncements, in the closing days of the war, that Turkey 
had succumbed, that Austria had sent up the white flag, 
that the Kaiser had abdicated, and finally that Germany 
had sent its representatives to General Foch to arrange for 
a suspension of hostilities — all failed to disturb the Lon- 
doner in the pursuit of his established and historic routine. 
Apparently everything was coming out as England ex- 
pected, and there was nothing to do but await events. The 
crash of empires and the fall of dynasties were the mere 
incidents of an arranged schedule. 

♦Note.— I desire to do no injustice even to the Irish Sea, which t is no friend 
of mine, nor anyone. The fourth trip— on the return to America— found it perfectly 
calm. Even the Irish Sea can behave itself, and sometimes does. 



130 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

The armistice was signed at 5 o'clock in the morning. 
The news accounts here have it that New York and Wash- 
ington got word of the great consummation at 3 o'clock 
A. M., and promptly proceeded to celebrate; and doubtless 
the Pacific Coast was favored with the same happy informa- 
tion sometime about midnight, or shortly thereafter. Mak- 
ing due allowance for all differences in time, London and 
England should have been notified of the result early in the 
day, immediately after the signing of the document. But 
the London evening papers are poor contraptions, and they 
have a way here of awaiting official announcements. It 
isn't news until the King, or the Premier, or some other 
great man has said it or done it. Or perhaps the censor 
was still on the job. In any event, the method of communi- 
cating to the public the great fact that Germany had of- 
ficially acknowledged that it had lost was through Lloyd 
George. 

The day was threatening and misty — a very poor time 
for a public celebration of any kind. Then a lorry came 
lumbering up the Strand firing anti-aircraft guns. The 
significance of the exploit was not at first clearly under- 
stood. Some thought it was a final German air raid. 

But at last it dawned on the London mind that the war 
was over; and the impossible happened. London cast all 
reserve to the winds and let itself loose in a spontaneous 
and mighty demonstration. It was mainly a thing of moving 
and joyous crowds, going somewhere, anywhere, and making 
a noise — not a din after the American fashion, but yet a 
fairly noisy noise, all quite seemly, disciplined and re- 
spectable. 

London is not yet thoroughly up in the art of getting the 
most out of a tin horn or a cow-bell. But the crowds — the 
crowds were enormous, and they were everywhere. It is 
said that London has 7,000,000 people. It must be an under- 
estimate. Far more than that number apparently assembled 
at Trafalgar Square and before Buckingham Palace, and 
marched in platoons or companies or irregular regimental 
formations up and down the Strand. Or perhaps it was the 
same millions going in turn to all these common meeting 
place.9. 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 131 

The crowd before the palace wanted to see and hear the 
King and Queen. That royal lady has a very large place in 
the calculations of the English people. "We want King 
George !" cried the people. The thoughts of more than one 
American went back to memorable and unexampled scenes 
in Chicago in 1912, when uproarious throngs insistently 
proclaimed "We want Roosevelt !" 

There the very air was tense with the electric fervor of 
irrepressible feeling loudly and vehemently expressed. Here, 
where they have King George, and evidently intend to keep 
him, there was no emotional outburst, no passionate outcry, 
no mob frenzy, merely the more or less formal call of a 
disciplined people to see their King, doubtless because they 
reasoned among themselves, in good English style, that it 
was the correct procedure in the circumstances. There is 
no denying the popularity of the King, however. If they 
were to hold an election for King in England tomorrow, the 
incumbent would distance all others at the polls. 

At a quarter to 11 there were no signs of special com- 
motion before the palace. A few idlers had gathered to 
watch the ceremony of changing the guard. The only flag 
in sight was the royal standard. At 11 o'clock, precisely, a 
typewritten copy of the Premier's announcement that hos- 
tilities had ceased was hung outside the railings and then 
the maroons exploded. 

The crowds began to gather, coming from all directions 
like bees in a swarm. Many had flags. Men on horseback 
came from somewhere and reined up before the palace. 
Taxicabs and motor cars came along and people who wanted 
to see better began to climb on the roofs. Within a few 
minutes many thousands had assembled and they began to 
call for the King. 

At 11:15 King George, in the uniform of an Admiral, 
appeared on the balcony. The Queen, bareheaded and wear- 
ing a fur coat, was with him. The Duke of Connaught came 
too, and the Princess Mary. The soldiers presented arms 
and the Irish Guards' band played the national anthem and 
the crowd solemnly took up the slow refrain. Then the band 
played "Rule Britannia." The people sang again and flags 
began to wave. They were nearly all British flags. The 



132 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

King removed his cap and his loyal subjects cheered, and 
someone proposed a groan for the Kaiser, which was given 
sonorously, and the ruler of Great Britain and all the Indies 
donned his cap and the royal group went back into the 
palace. 

The throngs, pleased and decorously animated, moved 
away, but their places were taken by other thousands, and 
the whole performance was repeated. At one of his ap- 
pearances the King was graciously inspired to make a 
speech. It consisted of only a sentence or two, but it was 
all right and the people applauded rapturously. 

Later, the King decided to drive through the city. He 
was accompanied by the Queen and the Princess Mary. Rain 
was falling, but nobody in England minds rain. It was a 
triumphal procession. Everywhere at central points had 
gathered many thousands to welcome their majesties. One 
mighty group was at Victoria Memorial; another at 
Admiralty Arch; another at Ludgate Circus; and still 
another at Mansion House, where the Lord Mayor, in his 
official robes of black and gold, was on hand to receive 
the royal pair. 

The streets were encompassed all the way by many 
people. Here and there was a police officer, but the police 
had no difficulty with the crowds. There was no special or 
unusual guard for the King and Queen, only a few 
outriders. They have no fear, evidently, in England, that 
anything untoward will happen to the Crown, through the 
act of a madman, or the deliberate deed of a regicide. A 
policeman's baton is enough. The English respect authority 
and obey it. 

On the succeeding day it was announced that the King 
and Queen would attend a thanksgiving service at St. 
Paul's Cathedral. The street scenes of the previous day 
were repeated during the progress of the royal couple to the 
magnificent center of worship. It is a noble and wonderful 
shrine, with a fit setting for occasions of vast importance. 
Great bells rang and a mighty concourse gathered, and a 
solemn and beautiful ceremony was conducted in commemo- 
ration of the triumph of the allied cause. The climax of the 
peace celebration was of course reached in the movements 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 133 

of the King and Queen; but these were merely the out- 
standing events. It is a fact, however, that it was every- 
body's affair, and he took his own way to show his joy that 
the end of the long and weary road had been reached at last. 

The Strand, ending in Trafalgar Square, the heart of 
London, is the most popular thoroughfare in the city. It 
attracts the visiting soldiers, and the soldiers make up a 
great part of the ordinary moving crowds. The Strand is 
about as wide as Washington street, and it may easily 
become congested. But somehow the people get along and 
the traffic proceeds and nothing much ever happens. 

When the joy-making began, the crowds took possession 
not only of the Strand, but of all available vehicles. A 
favorite adventure of men and women was to commandeer 
a taxicab and to pile in and on anywhere, preferably on top. 
One car, with a prescribed capacity for four, had exactly 
twenty-seven persons sardined in its not-too-ample propor- 
tions. Then there were lorries — automobile trucks — 
crowded with soldiers, civilians and girls, all waving flags 
and singing or shouting. 

Soldiers formed in procession and marched along. After 
a while they turned about and went the other way. Girls 
in uniform — munitions workers — appeared in large num- 
bers, and walked along, arm-in-arm with the men in khaki. 
Flags were plentiful, mostly British, with a fair proportion 
of American, French and Belgian. But the unvarnished 
truth is that Britain was celebrating a British victory. 
Well, why not ? They were polite enough to make reasonable 
concessions to their allies — whenever they thought of it. 

A group of Americans standing on the walk, somewhat 
uncertainly displaying American flags, were frequently 
cheered by the passing revelers. Once a lot of Canadians 
came in sight, and some of them, broke from their fellows, 
and came over and asked the Americans for the flags, which 
were promptly given them. 

At another time, a great lorry with perhaps 50 passen- 
gers aboard, stopped in front of an American with a band- 
aged head, waving Old Glory, and gave him three rousing 
cheers. They thought, doubtless that he was a hero of the 
war, with a wound honorably won in battle. He did not un- 



134 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

deceive them. The day went on with no diminution of the 
crowds or moderation of the excitement. Apparently it 
increased rather than diminished. Business was wholly 
suspended, except in the restaurants and hotels, and the 
metropolis gave itself up to merry-making. Yet it was 
mainly an unorganized, though orderly, spectacle of move- 
ment, without any great variety of stunts or picturesque 
incidents. Perhaps the crowd did not know how to do things 
as they do in America ; or perhaps it was merely content to 
go and go and go — and then come back. 

There was little drinking or drunkenness, apparently, in 
the streets, though there was plenty, and to spare, later in 
the great hotels. Possibly the crowd was sober because 
intoxication costs money nowadays in England; or perhaps 
it was not in the humor to drink. But the gay assemblies 
within the walls of the restaurants had no such scruples. 
There was much drinking, much noise, much laxity, a com- 
plete departure from the innocent gayety of the streets. 

The celebration did not end on Monday night. But it 
started up again on Tuesday and continued through the 
week. When London celebrates it celebrates. There is no 
question about it. Occasionally the crowd broke bounds. 
At Piccadilly Circus there was a great bonfire made up of 
big signboards taken by force from passing omnibuses. The 
same thing occurred at Trafalgar Square, where the effort 
to subdue the flames by water from a firemen's hose led to 
cracking the stones at the foundation of the Nelson monu- 
ment, making a serious disfigurement of that splendid 
column. But such scenes were rare. 

London had not sobered down, or up, when the editors 
left, on a Friday. It was said that Saturday night would 
probably see the culmination of an entire week's festivities 
in a great saturnalia in which the whole population would 
join. 

It is pleasant to contemplate the comparative calm of a 
voyage at sea, even in Winter time, when storms abound, 
but submarines do not. 

London, England, November 15, 1918 



TWENTY-SIXTH LETTER 



SEEING THE SIGHTS FROM A TAXI WINDOW. 

THE American editorial pilgrims are back in London 
and are making their plans to go home. They were 
brought to England to see the English, and not 
England, and the Scotch and the Irish, and were taken to 
France to see the French, and not France, and down to the 
American front to see what the American Army had done 
and was doing. 

And, of course, they were to learn all about the war. 
They leave with comfortable reflections about their share 
in the adventure. They have seen many English, and some 
Scotch, and a few Irish, both at war and at peace ; and they 
have had a great experience in France, which includes Paris. 

Some of the journalists had an opportunity for a little 
sightseeing, but not much. To the few who had not before 
been abroad it was something of a disappointment that a 
hundred historic scenes, focal points of modern progress, 
must remain unvisited. 

For example, the editorial procession bisected the battle 
field of Agincourt at a speed of 35 miles an hour. There 
was a wave of the hand by the military escort in the direc- 
tion of a wide expanse of rolling country and of a monument 
obscured by trees; and that was enough for Agincourt. 
The memorable past was blithely ignored ; only the terrible 
present was of moment. 

One visitor had a chance of an afternoon to take a run 
about the French capital. He compassed in two or three 
short hours the stately Tuileries, the Champs Elysses, the 
Place de la Concorde, Notre Dame Cathedral, the Arch of 
Triumph, the River Seine and the tomb of Napoleon. 

He has only an observation or two to make about his 
rapid-fire glimpse of Paris from the window of a taxicab. 



136 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

The Paris of parks and boulevards and buildings and bridges 
and palaces is a city of meticulous order and orthodox 
loveliness, just as some other cities are; but the Paris of 
art and history and literature and music and imagination, 
interpreted through its monuments and cathedrals and 
opera houses and public memorials and festal centers, is 
the Paris of one's dreams. 

The arch in various forms was the product of primitive 
artistry, at times beautiful and even noble; and the archi- 
tects of Greece and Rome vied with one another in their 
conception of symmetrical monuments to be erected for the 
pride of statesmen and glory of conquerors. 

But if there was a grandeur that was Rome and a glory 
that was Greece, there is a magnificence that is Paris and 
it is expressed in the Arch of Triumph and the tomb of 
Napoleon. Magnificence is the right word. None other will 
do ; no other is needed. 

London is a conglomeration, a metropolitan jumble and 
scatteration. It is more curious and confusing than Paris, 
and to some persons far more interesting. Perhaps it is 
because it has more things than Paris to show that have 
a bearing on the beginnings of America; or perhaps it is 
because you have to hunt them up. 

To be sure, there is Trafalgar Square, and you cannot 
avoid it, no matter where you are trying to go ; and there is 
St. Paul's Cathedral, which is as impressive and awesome 
from the inside as it is conventional and elegant from the 
outside. But you have to look about quite a while to find 
Smithfield Church. 

A party of four that had spent several luminous hours 
in St. Paul's concluded that it would add to the pleasures 
of the day if the exact site of the burning by a zealot 
English Queen of several hundred of her offending heretic 
countrymen, only a few hundred years ago, was to be 
visited. They were sent in one direction, and they saw a 
church, which did not look altogether historic or mystic, 
and they concluded to ask a policeman. They did. 

"Smithfield Church?" he mused. "Oh, yes, it's around 
here somewhere; but that ain't it." 

"What's the name of the church yonder?" 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 137 

The bobby looked a little blank and ashamed. "Well, 
now, I've been walking about that church day and night for 
21 years and I cawn't think of its name. I don't believe it's 
got a name." 

The sightseers veered off, and found another policeman 
who said Smithfield was on his beat and he would show 
them the old church and the precise spot where the unhappy 
martyrs were incinerated and where Wat Tyler was stabbed 
and where the cattle were sold, and so on. But meantime 
wouldn't the American gentlemen like to see where the first 
bomb thrown by the 'Uns hit London ? 

Waving aside any natural curiosity as to how a mere 
policeman showed real qualities as a great detective and 
spotted them as Americans and allies, the spokesman of the 
travelers said they would like to see all those self-same 
spots, identical or approximate. They saw them all. They 
saw the remains of a building blown down and they heard 
the history of the bombing event with its loss of several 
lives. 

The obliging officer took them on to Smithfield, where 
they spent a profitable and enjoyable hour exploring the 
crypts and choirs and cloisters of the old church, and saw 
the graves and the vault (profaned for a long time by its 
use as a wine cellar) and heard the interesting story of the 
effort to restore the crumbling edifice. Then, after a 
casual inspection of the market, they wandered back to the 
Strand by way of Old Bailey, and the old execution triangle, 
where the British public through long years saw, and 
presumably profited by, many a hanging. There is no Old 
Bailey now ; it is a new Bailey ; and they hang them inside, 
away from the feasting gaze of the crowds. 

Westminster Abbey has a mighty attraction for tourists. 
You are surprised here, as at St. Paul's, to note the many 
memorials to the sea heroes of the empire; but when you 
reflect that the history of its maritime power is the history 
of Great Britain you understand it all. 

In America we have a few outstanding naval figures, 
such as John Paul Jones, Perry, Lawrence and Farragut; 
but England has its hundreds. The greatest monument in 
London is erected to Lord Nelson, in Trafalgar Square, 



138 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

named for his greatest battle ; and throughout the kingdom 
you are constantly running across bronze or marble images 
either of Nelson or Wellington. They serve to show that 
the empire is not ungrateful, and to keep alive the seeds of 
patriotism and ambition in growing generations. No nation 
can or will endure, or should, that forgets its greatest 
citizens, whether soldier or sailor or statesman or philan- 
thropist or scientist. 

It gives one an unpleasant sensation to walk over faces 
of the illustrious dead, as at Westminster. Charles James 
Fox, for example, has a grave in one great corridor and 
thousands daily tramp over him and are beginning to efface 
by their hastening feet the written record of his birth and 
life and death. But they have treated Major Andre better. 
He has a tablet in a secure place in a wall erected by his 
grateful King, George III, who was no friend of America. 
His royal descendant of the present day is a friend of 
America, without a doubt. No American can object to a 
memorial to Major Andre. He died for his country, just 
as bravely and truly as Nathan Hale died for his. 

You cannot see much of Westminster in fifteen minutes ; 
but it is something to have seen it, even if it merely revives 
for the moment ancient prejudices. There in Westminster 
is both the dead body of the old England and the living soul 
of the new England. You must admire and praise a people 
who do such things. 

The British Museum is worth many days of inspection. 
But there was no time. The man from Oregon, who had 
fallen in with a bookseller that agreed to show him the 
London of Dickens and Thackeray, but didn't, through no 
fault of his own, wanted to see the two greatest relics, 
Magna Charta and the Rosetta Stone. 

The first was gone, and in place of the second was a 
replica. They had been removed to places of safety during 
the war. 

The Tower of London was also more carefully guarded 
than usual ; but they still permit you to gaze at the empty 
and forlorn cell where they kept Sir Walter Raleigh before 
they cut off his noble head, and they have no fear, either, 
that the Germans will steal the little graveled plot where 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 139 

they executed the Scottish Mary and the English Lady 
Jane Gray, and sundry other queenly ladies and princely 
gentlemen who were in somebody's road to the throne. 

They have got far beyond any desire in England now 
to behead any English King or Queen or pretender. They 
reserve that unenviable distinction only for the Emperor 
made and unmade in Germany. 

The touring editors returned from Ireland the day of 
the armistice and have been in London during the whirling 
events of the British peace celebration. One night there 
was a large reception and dinner at the Savoy, by the British 
newspaper conference. Lord Burnham, publisher, owner 
and editor of the London Telegraph, presided, and Lord 
Balfour and other men of distinction were there, and some 
of them spoke. 

The London papers gave elaborate accounts of the affair 
and quoted quite fully all the English had to say to the 
Americans, but rather overlooked what the Americans had 
to say to the English. But it was all right. It's the English 
way. If he's a Lord and Englishman, and he says or does 
anything in public, it is important and it is the solemn duty 
of every well-regulated British newspaper to report it all. 
Probably they assumed, too, that if the Americans wanted 
their speeches printed, they could do it in their own papers. 

There was another large dinner, again given by Lord 
Burnham, and a luncheon by Mrs. Humphry Ward, a 
famous and wonderful woman, widely known and admired 
in America. It is perhaps worth while to give a list of the 
British guests: 

Mrs. Humphry Ward, in the chair; The Duchess of 
Atholl, The Duchess of Marlborough, Lady Sandhurst, life 
controller of King's household ; Lady Ampthill, head of Red 
Cross ; Hon. Mrs. A. Lyttleton, Mrs. Randall Davidson, wife 
of Archbishop Canterbury ; Dame Katherine Firze, W. R. E. 
N. S. ; Mrs. Burleigh Leach, W. A. A. C. ; Miss Lillian Barker, 
Woolwich; Miss Tuke, Bedford College; Miss Plumer, Gen- 
eral Sir Herbert Plumer; Mrs. Holland, matron St. Dun- 
stan's. 

There was a dinner by Lieutenant-General Smuts, the 
Boer, who has had a great part in the conduct of the war 



140 SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 

by Great Britain. He told why he, a former foe of the 
English, was now a soldier for Great Britain ; and he told it 
eloquently and convincingly. It was one of the notable 
events of the editorial tour, for it served to show the way 
the British Empire has been created and is being held 
together by its absorption and utilization of voices and 
forces that needed only understanding to be friendly. 

The visit is ended and a summary of its results may be 
made briefly. The editors have seen many things, and 
other things they have not seen, through lack of time and 
opportunity. But the headlands observed by them stand 
out in a great sea of impressions in about the following 
order : 

First — The British fleet and the British merchant 
marine. 

Second — The vast extent of the British war organiza- 
tion at home. 

Third — The British war front and the dreadful effects 
of four years' intensive and bloody fighting. 

Fourth — The calm of the French under long and terrible 
stress. 

Fifth — The unity of the French in the one great design 
in winning the war. 

Sixth — The friendliness of the French toward America 
and Americans. 

Seventh — The few outward signs of mourning in Eng- 
land, after great losses in nearly every family, and the many 
outward signs of mourning in France, but with no one 
talking of his sorrows. 

Eighth — The great part America has played in the war 
and the general recognition of it. 

Ninth — The common desire both in Great Britain and 
France to have a complete understanding with America — 
if not a league — for the furtherance of common aims and 
common ideals. 

Tenth — The high acclaim of President Wilson as the 
leader of America in the war and as the voice and interpreter 
of the sacred cause of right and justice and equality and 
democracy for all the allies. 



SOMEWHERE NEAR THE WAR 141 

Eleventh — The difficulties of the Irish situation and the 
growing irritation both in England and Ireland over it. 

Twelfth — The complete loyalty of the Scotch and the 
colonies to the empire. 

Thirteenth — The astounding development of aviation. 

Fourteenth — The large employment of women in indus- 
try in England and the acceptance of the British of their 
right to the suffrage. 

Fifteenth — The (a) naval leadership of Great Britain 
in the war ; the (b) military leadership of France ; the (c) 
political leadership of America. 

London, England, November 16, 1918. 



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